


Stories from a death foretold

by Onlythegodsarereal



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grantaire Rants, Grantaire's past, Meet the Family, Mentions of alcoholism, Minor Character Death, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Multi, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining, and maybe too much mythological references, featuring R monologuing, joly&bossuet&musichetta&grantaire friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlythegodsarereal/pseuds/Onlythegodsarereal
Summary: "As long as he could remember their mother had always been too fragile to do anything on her own with days where it was impossible for her to even get out of bed. In some of her darkest moments, the fear that she was going to die had ruled their hearts, but Francoise Marianne Grantaire had survived everything, even her own husband."After receiving the news of his mother's approaching death, Grantaire has to go back to his hated childhood home and the memories that are hidden inside. This time, though, he won't be alone and between secret lovers, untold truths and fading memories they'll learn something about Love, Liberty, and Revolution.





	1. Good news and bad news arrive and four favours are asked

The first thing that Grantaire felt when he woke up was his pounding headache.

The second was his dry mouth.

Not that those were surprising facts, seeing as he had drunk himself into mild unconsciousness the night before.

The truly surprising thing was the faint scent of lemon pervading his room. That wasn’t a consequence of a high consumption of alcohol, not one that he knew of at least.  
He tentatively opened one eye only to have it nearly blinded by the light filtering from the open bedroom door. He must have left that open when he came home the previous night, too tired and drunk to remember that in the morning the sunlight would pass right through. Only when the first eye got acquainted enough with the excess light did he open the second, and only then did he notice the woman sitting on a chair beside his bed. She was reading a book while balancing a steaming cup on her lap and seemed mildly bored.

Grantaire grunted.

The woman lifted her eyes from the book to the figure lying on the bed and smiled warmly.

“Well, good morning, my dear brother,” she said closing the book.

“What on God’s earth are you doing in my apartment?” he mumbled from under a cushion. He closed his eyes and prayed that this was only a dream provoked by the alcohol.

“I’m happy to see you too,” she said refuting, with just a handful of words, the hope that it was all a dream. “I made you an infusion with lemon and fennel seeds. It’ll help with your headache.”

“I doubt it.”

“And I made you breakfast,” she went on, completely ignoring his comment, not that that was surprising at all. 

She got up and left the room. Grantaire could hear her rummaging in his little kitchen.

“Lizi, why are you here?” he repeated deciding to get out from his hiding spot under the covers.

“A sister can’t visit her little brother once in a while?” she asked from the other room.

Grantaire huffed.

“I’m serious, Lizi.”

“I prepared some fresh water for you and some clean clothes. They should be on the bench at the foot of the bed.”

“Lizi,” he insisted. Elizabeth remained silent for some long moments, long enough to actually make Grantaire start to doubt she was even in the apartment until she reappeared at his bedroom door. She wore a serious expression and she looked tense. Grantaire couldn’t help but feel worried.

“I have news, but I want you to be as clear headed as possible before I tell you.”

“Are Jean-Philippe and the girls all right?” he asked worriedly.

“They are. Of course they are. I wouldn’t be here if they weren’t,” she said and Grantaire nodded.

“And Angelique?”

“She’s all right too. Now get dressed and come have breakfast with me. We’ll talk after,” she said with finality before disappearing again into the other room.  
Grantaire wanted to protest and insist she stop fussing over him, but then his eye fell on the clear water prepared for him on the nightstand, the clothes carefully folded at the end of the bed and the steaming cup of the herbal concoction.  
Elizabeth rarely fancied herself an angel of the hearth and the fact that she had put so much effort into curing his headache must had meant something really serious was going on, something that really upset his sister. Grantaire didn’t remember Elizabeth being so worried in years.

He sighed and immersed his entire face in the cold water.

Later he emerged from his room washed and clothed and clear headed enough to have a meaningful conversation, but for his sister it wasn’t enough. She insisted that he sat and ate something before talking.

“I bought you some pastries from that bakery that you like.”

“You don’t know what bakeries I like,” Grantaire pointed out, but he still took the pastry and started eating with gusto.

“It’s the best in Paris, so I assumed you would like that.”

Grantaire grunted with mis mouth full.

“And since when do you know about pastries in Paris? I’ll bet whatever you want that you asked Jean-Philippe for advice, who by the way, knows little more than you. If you actually wanted the best bakery of the city you should have gone to…”

“Can you just thank me for the breakfast and save me this little lesson? I’m really not in the mood to feign interest today.”

Grantaire stopped and raised his hands in defeat. He had missed his sister’s lack of humor, it really was its own kind of comical.

“And drink some more of your infusion. I’m sure you left half of the one I brought to your room earlier,” said Elizabeth standing up to pour some more into a new cup. It was in that moment that Grantaire noticed the slightly rounder belly of his sister.

“Lizi, are you pregnant?” he asked incredulous. Elizabeth stopped and looked down as if she herself were surprised by her condition and then raised her wide eyes towards her brother.

“Well, yes, yes I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She didn’t answer, but her expression was an answer enough. Grantaire was well acquainted with that expression. It was his sister trying to hide her disappointment behind a blank face and it had stopped working more or less twenty years ago.

“You did tell me, didn’t you?” he asked passing a hand through his hair with frustration.

“Yes, I did.”

Two pairs of eyes felt on the pile of unopened letters near the door, left there to gather dust.

“I’m sorry Lizi, I swear I intended to read yours.”

Elizabeth waved a hand in the air as if her brother’s behaviour hadn’t wounded her.

“By now I have accepted that you and Marie wish to forget this family as quickly as possible.”

“This is not true, Lizi, really. I’ll always care for you and the girls.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened and she smiled.“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“I guess I owe you some congratulations at least. Are you finally going to give your husband’s family an heir?”

“Jean-Philippe said he hopes it’s a girl, more out of spite towards his mother than anything else, I presume. I proposed that if it happens to be a boy, we should name him after you.”

“And then your mother-in-law will have her final stroke.”

“That’s the idea.”

Grantaire laughed and even Elizabeth’s lips curved a little bit upwards. 

“So, how are the little harpies?”

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t refer to my daughters with that word,” Elizabeth said pouring herself more tea. Her tone though was one of someone repeating an old and nearly meaningless argument, so Grantaire didn't take her words in consideration.

“Did you take them with you to see their old uncle?”

“You’re six years younger than me,” she reminded him with a sigh. “The girls are not here in Paris, they’re heading to Saintes Maries with their father.”

Hearing the name of his childhood home, Grantaire cringed slightly, but he immediately regained his composure. He didn’t want to argue with his sister and he knew Elizabeth had some strong opinions about his absence from their parents’ home.

“Isn’t it a bit early to take the girls to the sea?” he asked with faux nonchalance, but he noticed his sister getting suddenly tense, freezing for a fraction of a second while turning the teaspoon in the cup.

“Lizi, you have to tell me what’s going on because you’re really worrying me right now,” he said, his voice more serious and heavy.

“Well, I guess you’re clearheaded enough,” she agreed. She straightened up and raised her eyes to meet her brother’s. “Mother’s dying,” she said simply and remained silent waiting for her brother’s response.

“Mother’s been dying for the last twenty years,” he commented and started eating his pastry again.

As long as he could remember their mother had always been too fragile to do anything on her own with days where it was impossible for her to even get out of bed. In some of her darkest moments, the fear that she was going to die had ruled their hearts, but Francoise Marianne Grantaire had survived everything, even her own husband.

“This time’s different,” continued Elizabeth. “The doctor said she has a month, maybe something more. She insists that before she dies she wants to see the whole family under the same roof one last time. That’s why I’m here, to make sure both you and Marie receive her last message.”

“Tell her she’ll probably want to change her last wish. I’m not going.”

Elizabeth remained silent for long moments, then sighed.

“Do what you want. You’re not a child anymore and I’m not responsible for your decisions, but if you don’t want to do this last favour for our mother at least do something for me.”

“For you, anything.”

“I’ll need you to bring the news to Marie. I don’t know where to find her and I’ll have to leave for Saintes Maries tomorrow if I want to be able to receive Jacque and Angelique.”

“I don’t know where to find Marie either. She changes her address at least once a month.”

“But you have more time to try to find her. Please Adrian, I’m not asking anything else from you.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Elizabeth nodded then she stood up and reached for her overcoat on the back of the chair.

“Now I really have to go,” she said without even trying to find an excuse, but Elizabeth had always been like that. She went through life without asking permission or justifying herself, a trait that Grantaire admired a lot.

But she also loved their mother a lot, she almost venerated her, and Grantaire knew that under that cold and distant composure his sister was crying for a loss that had not even happened yet.

“Lizi, are you all right?” he asked her closing his hand around her wrist in a reassuring gesture.

She nodded.

“I’ll miss her, you know. But she had a difficult life. I’m happy she’ll find happiness and peace with our Lord.”

Another time Grantaire could have questioned if their mother deserved Paradise. If he had still had his headache he would have made some comment like that, only to regret it right after. And that was certainly why Elizabeth had insisted on him clearing his head before having that conversation. His sister knew him too well.

He accompanied her at the door and they remained silent until their goodbyes.

“Write to me if you change your mind, and I’ll prepare another room.”

“I really doubt it’ll happen.”

She nodded again.

“Say hi to Musichetta and her boys. Tell them I’m sorry I didn’t do so myself.”

“They’ll understand. Give a kiss to each harpy, and tell them it’s from their old uncle.”

“It’ll be done. Take care of yourself, Adrian.”

“I’ll try.”

Elizabeth smiled then left without turning back, another thing that she was very good at. And exactly like all those times before, Grantaire remained alone. 

 

“So, I need a favour.”

It has been a wonderful evening, as was always the case when Joly invited him for dinner. Not that it was Joly who had invited him. Bossuet had and he didn’t invite him as much as he told him that Musichetta had conceded to cook for that night which had prompted Grantaire to invite himself over. But he and Joly had been past those formalities for years.

And if Grantaire also needed to ask a favour to their dear grisette, they didn’t need to know until the end of the dinner.

“What kind of favour?” asked Joly with growing suspicion. He had known Grantaire for too long not to question his friend’s request for help which usually ended with one of them, or both, running from some not-very-happy third party.

“You know our sofa is always free if your landlord evicted you again, dear,” said Musichetta serving him another slice of cake. The woman was an angel.

“That’s not the problem, Chetta, but thank you.”

“I can ask the boys to scrape up some money if you need it and I should have something now in my jacket if it’s urgent,” said Bossuet with a thoughtful face, probably thinking of who to ask for the money.

“No, I… I sold a couple of still lifes this week. I’m fine for now in that department.”

“So, what it is? Chetta is not going to be your model again. Last time she caught a cold,” urged Joly.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. I made a beautiful Mary Magdalene. It was worth the cold.”

“No, no it’s nothing of the sort. It is a more personal matter.”

“For Goodness sake, R, you didn’t get some good girl in trouble, did you?” asked Musichetta worried.

Bossuet grunted.

“He’d need to find some girl first.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Only speaking the truth. Hey, don’t tell me that you’re sick. Are you sick? Are you dying?”

“Dying, Boss, really?”

“Sorry. I spend too much time with Joly.”

“Hey! I take offence at that. But I’m ready to bet that this favour of yours has something to do with the other living Grantaires, or am I wrong?”

Grantaire sighed and let himself slide a little lower in the chair.

“No, you aren’t.”

“Is everyone all right?” asked Musichetta suddenly worried again.

“Yes, well, almost everyone. Mother’s dying.”

“R, we’re so sorry,” said Bossuet putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right mother had been sick for ages. We have practiced for this moment since we were little.”

“Still, it’s natural to be upset,” commented Joly. He stood up and moved his chair closer to Grantaire’s to put his arms around his friend and Grantaire allowed himself the small joy of resting his head on Joly’s.

“How are the others?” inquired Musichetta.

“I’ve seen only Lizi. She was the one to give me the news. She was clearly not herself, all sensitive and caring, but apart from that she seemed to have taken it well.”

“Please, be kind to your sister, R. You know it must be a difficult time for her,” said Musichetta, but she joined the embrace her lovers were giving him which could only meant she was still on his side.

“I’m always kind to her. The favour I was asking is all about doing a favour for her.”

“And what was that favour again?” asked Joly lifting his head just enough to vaguely stare at Grantaire’s cheek.

“Well, I haven’t said it yet, you all wouldn’t let me talk. I need to ask Musichetta if she knows where I can find Marie. She failed to send me her new address. Again.”

“Isn’t Marie your disowned sister?” asked Bossuet.

They started releasing him from the embrace. Musichetta was going towards the cabinet, probably searching for her letters, and Bossuet and Joly were searching for a wine bottle, to complete the mourning or maybe to cheer him up, Grantaire was grateful either way.

“Father disowned her, actually. Mother tried to reconcile with her after his death and she almost did it, but Marie never agreed to go back to Saintes Maries. Now, though, mother asked for all the family to reunite under that damned roof again and Lizi asked me to pass the message to our rebellious sister.”

The other three exchanged a worried look which Grantaire didn’t miss at all. Those three were subtle as a herd of pachyderms in a china shop. 

“I gather that you will be leaving soon then,” said Joly unsurely after clearing his throat.

“No, I won’t go. I’ve already informed Lizi of my decision and she graciously accepted it, so please spare me the lecture.”

They exchanged another not-at-all-subtle glance, but evidently their silent discussion ended with the decision of saying nothing.

“Unfortunately, I’m not very keen with the actresses, so I can’t tell you anything about Marie’s whereabouts,” Musichetta informed him after a couple of seconds of tense silence. “But I know someone who might help you.”

 

“Louise, my favourite dishwasher on this side of the Seine. Aren’t you comparable to the divine Ebe, cupbearer of the gods and illustrious wife of Hercules once he ascended on the Olympus? You who serves Dionysus’ nectar with never ending grace and industry to the most enlightened and intrepid minds of this city which has nothing to envy at the great Mount Olympus,” greeted Grantaire making his entrance at the Musain Café.

Louise raised her eyes from the glass she was wiping and looked at him with a single raised eyebrow, glanced over him to the ancient clock on the other side of the room then she put her attention back to her task.

“No,” she said simply when he approached the counter.

“What?”

“I said no,” she repeated without bothering to look at him.

“Yes, I heard that, what is not clear to me is what are you saying no to.”

“To whatever favour you’re going to ask me.”

“How are you so sure I’m going to ask for a favour?” he asked signalling for her to pour him a glass of wine with a nod of his head. She had known him for long enough to know what it meant.

“Well, it’s Wednesday and you’re here before four in the afternoon, which has never happened since the day the Amis de l’ABC started renting the backroom. I know for a fact that you’re usually at the Café Molière, so you must be here for some reason other than drinking. I doubt you’re waiting for someone because usually you’re the one who makes people wait, so you must need something from me.”

“So, it wasn’t my captatio benevolentiae of before which gave me away?”

“No, that is just how you usually start a conversation,” she answered shrugging and finally poured him his wine.

“Well, you’re right there.”

“I’m right everywhere.”

“It’s one of the few truths I live by,” he stated raising his glass in a mock toast to the woman. “Coincidentally I need your magic powers. For doing some good, I swear.”

“Don’t you start calling it that too, Jehan is enough,” she pleaded while putting the glasses in the cabinet.

“Too late, everyone is using it.”

Louise sighed.

“So, will you help me?”

“No.”

“Come on, Louise!” he blurted out frustrated but Louise just moved further from him to put away the glasses in another cabinet.

“Is our Grande R giving you troubles, Louise?” The voice of Feuilly sounded clear and loud in the nearly empty café after the drill of the bell.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” asked Louise inquisitively coming back near Grantaire, more for the fact that Feuilly had chosen to sit near him than for anything else.

“I covered one of the other workers for lunch so I’m taking a break now. What are you doing here, R? It’s before four in the evening on a Wednesday.”

“Do you all keep track of my movements?” asked Grantaire incredulously.

“Grantaire wants me to find someone for him,” said the young woman dismissing him completely.

“It must be nothing like Courfeyrac’s usual requests, unless R’s luck with grisettes suddenly improved.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that every grisette in Paris has gone crazy over me at least once in her life, if not twice, but I’d never let it happen a third time because it could be fatal for their frail hearts.”

Feuilly laughed while Louise rolled her eyes even though he could see her hiding a small smile.

“Anyway, my answer still remains,” she commented after a moment.

“If it was Feuilly who asked you would say yes,” lamented Grantaire changing tactic.

“If Feuilly asked I’d have known it was something important.”

“This is important too!”

“Really?”

“I need to know where to find my sister.”

Louise stopped her movements, just for a fraction of a second, but Grantaire noticed and nearly erupted in laughter.

“You didn’t know I had a sister, did you?” he asked grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t be absurd. You have more than one and at least one brother,” the woman answered before disappearing into the kitchen.

“I didn’t know,” said Feuilly almost sadly at the notion of not knowing something so important about his friend. “I mean, I knew you couldn’t be an only child because everyone knows Enjolras and Prouvaire are the only ones besides me, that is, but you’re the only one who doesn’t complain about their siblings. How many of you are there?”

“I’ve got three sisters and one brother, five in all. Not very much to say about them. We’re not one of those families who keeps writing to each other every day.”

“And why it is you need to find your sister then?” asked the other man while Louise placed a plate of food in front of him.

“Maybe you should ask to our little Morrigan here,” replied Grantaire sardonically.

“R, can you try not to annoy her for just one second?” asked Feuilly tiredly, but Louise silenced him and just looked at Grantaire in silence for long seconds.

“I fear it’s a more personal matter than R would want to discuss here,” she finally said.

“We should call you the mighty Athena, goddess of wisdom and place you on an altar with olive leaves and carved owls,” he answered with a smile.

“Is everything all right, R?” asked Feuilly suddenly worried.

“It’s our mother. She’s ill, well, she has never been very healthy, but now it seems she hasn’t much time left. Don’t make those faces we are not very close, never have been. She was distant, sick most of the time. Not the best of mothers for not the best of sons.  
The universe’s justice.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Louise interrupted.

“Sorry?”

“About finding your sister, I’ll see what I can do.”

Grantaire nodded. “Thank you.”

“Just this once,” she said and left again to go serve two gentlemen at another table.

 

“If I asked you to meet me at the Musain on a Wednesday afternoon would you be surprised?” asked Grantaire curiously.  
They were waiting in a small and poorly lit corridor mostly occupied by costumes and props. Courfeyrac was going through the hanging clothes with a little too much interest, in Grantaire’s modest opinion.

“Of course I would. Isn’t Wednesday your day for that splendid oriental tearoom?”

“No, dear, you’re getting confused. Wednesday is for the Café Molière, Thursdays are for the oriental tearoom,” corrected Jehan reappearing in that moment.

“I need to know how long you all have been keeping tracks of my movements,” Grantaire commented in disbelief. 

“Did you find the producer, Prouvaire?” asked Courfeyrac to the young poet ignoring Grantaire’s inquiries.

“I caught him just in time. I really had to give him my compliments. A great play, beautifully composed, a true example of nouvelle comedie.”

“Is that a calling card?”

“That, my dear R, is not your business,” answered Jehan hiding the card in one of the inside pockets of his jacket.

“And your sister was a delight too, R. Why haven’t you ever told us that she was an actress?”

Grantaire was actually pretty sure he had been very careful not to mention his sister Marie under any circumstances.

“And why you, our dearest Courfeyrac, haven’t never spoken about your little sister ready to take the vows in a convent in Belgium or why Combeferre never talks about his older brother married to a beautiful Italian singer? Did you know about Bahorel’s nine sisters, one more beautiful than the other? Or Jehan’s cousin who taught him to play the flute? How truly do we know our fellow men? And is the knowledge we have of each other proportional to the time we spend together? Why do we tell to our companions what we tell? What does it say of us? Does it say anything at all?”

“Didn’t know I had a little sister, such shocking news,” commented Courfeyrac sarcastically while inspecting the corset of a nightgown. “And I’m quite sure Combeferre doesn’t have an older brother.”

“Well, Bahorel does not have nine sisters,” added Jehan.

“My point remains,” said Grantaire shrugging.

“But I can actually play the flute, you know?” Jehan informed them, more for Courfeyrac’s benefit than for Grantaire’s who had seen him perform more than once.

“You must sound lovely, my dear.”

In that moment the door at the end of the corridor opened suddenly showing Bahorel in all his glory. Behind him light and laughter revealed the presence of the actors’ changing rooms.

“Do you want to come or not?” asked Bahorel impatiently.

“We were waiting for you to call us, but it’s evident you were more pleasantly occupied,” said Courfeyrac pointing to the man’s waistcoat, which was clearly inside-out, before following him in the other room.

Bahorel, far from being mortified, erupted in a boisterous laugh.

“You have to understand me, my friends, me and lovely Sara hadn’t seen each other for two days. She had been too occupied with the preparations for the play.”

“Well, R’s sister’s costumes were marvelous so I would say she has done an incredible job,” commented Jehan.

“By the way, how it is you’d never told me your sister was an actress, R? We could have had found out that Sara is her dresser ages ago,” Bahorel inquired genuinely curious.

“Oh no, please, don’t ask him. He had already had time to explain to us his extensive theory,” Courfeyrac interfered. Bahorel and Jehan laughed and Grantaire smiled to hide his relief. Really, he wasn’t ready to explain again how complicated Marie’s relationship with the rest of the family was.

They passed by numerous closed doors from which came various sounds and voices, some made Jehan blush some others just made them raise their eyebrows.

“Actors,” muttered Bahorel when a cat with a wine bottle tied to its tail run out of a half open door.

At last he stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor and knocked a couple of times.

“Coming!” answered Sara’s unmistakable voice and surely, a moment later, there she was: lively and bright as always, her grey and vibrant eyes passing over the three of them with one glance.

“I was already starting to miss you, my love,” she said to Bahorel before standing on her tiptoes to give her lover a quick kiss on the lips.

“For two lovers who have given their hearts to one another, time and space are nothing more than empty words,” he answered when they broke apart.

Her smile grew wider.

“Beautiful words. Fortunately, we have their true owner to thank,” she commented turning towards Jehan who laughed softly before giving the woman a warm hug.

“The words may be mine, Sara, but the passion is all his,” he said.

“Courfeyrac, long time no see,” she resumed once the poet stepped aside.

“I fear a couple of your friends wouldn’t be so happy to see me again, my dear, at least for a while.”

Sara rolled her eyes and then focused her attention to Grantaire.

“And you. I would have never guessed you were my Marie’s big brother.”

“I know. Unfortunately I’ve been cursed with all the beauty of the family. A burden I carry on my shoulder with impeccable grace and humility I should say.”

“Ah!” came the voice of another woman in the changing room.

Sara shook her head smiling and gestured for them to follow her inside.

Marie hadn’t changed at all since the last time Grantaire had seen her, more than a year before.  
She still was stunningly beautiful, Guinevere reincarnated, able to make the faith of even the most loyal of King Arthur’s knights tremble with her emerald eyes.

“Adrian, I’m incredibly cross with you. You haven’t written to me in months,” she said once they entered the room, glancing at him in the reflection of her toilette’s mirror.

“I think you might have forgotten to send me your new address, my dear sister,” he replied sitting on her sofa and searching around for a bottle of something alcoholic. Knowing how his sister usually chose her lovers, there probably was something expensive nearby.

“Nonsense. The mailman must have made some kind of mistake.”

Grantaire huffed.

“I think we should leave the siblings to talk alone for a while,” said Sara starting to usher the other three men out of the door.

“But we haven’t even met R’s sister properly yet,” complained Courfeyrac.

“We’ll have plenty of time later, they’ll reach us for dinner. Right, R?” asked Bahorel putting on his tall hat.

“Only if dinner’s on you,” answered Grantaire, but his friends had already disappeared.

“What happened then?” snapped his sister after her inquisitive glances had been met with silence.

“Something must have happened for a brother to want to find his sister? What has become of the Christian value of family?”

“Please, you haven’t come seen me in over a year. Then, you turn an entire city upside down just to find where I work,” she interrupted him while wiping off her makeup.

“I did not turn an entire city upside down and I’m not the one who changed his address seven times in less than six months,” he retorted pouring himself a generous amount of English scotch in a champagne chalice.

“Tell yourself what you want but don’t tell me that nothing happened. Is Lizi pregnant again?”

“No, I mean, yes, yes Lizi is pregnant.”

“Oh Goodness, what is it? The fourth? Those two are worse than rabbits. Will it be a girl again?”

“They hope so, but Marie, Lizi’s new pregnancy is not the reason why I searched for you. Mother’s dying.”

“Mother’s been dying for twenty years,” she said without missing a beat. “Really, Adrian, I expected some more pragmatism from you. From Lizi too actually, motherhood must have ruined her temperament.”

“I doubt it. She told me that the doctor gives mother a month, something more maybe. She said that her last wish is to have all of us under the same roof one last time.”

“I’ll have to write to Lizi then. Do you know if she’s still in Arles or has she already gone to Saintes Maries?”

“She should be at Saintes Maries by now, and don’t worry, I’ve already told her that I won’t be there and Lizi said nothing so I don’t think she’ll make a scene to you,” he said relaxing on the little sofa.

Now that the difficult part of the conversation was over he could focus on stealing more of his sister’s alcohol he could and prepare himself for a dinner with Marie and three of his friends, a scene directly out of one of his worst nightmares.

“I’ll need to write to Lizi to tell her to prepare me a room, Adrian,” clarified Marie, nearly making him spill the scotch.

“Are you going?” he asked incredulously .

“Of course I am and you’ll be coming too.”

“I don’t think so.”

Marie suddenly turned around, directly facing him for the first time since he had entered in the room.

“Adrian, I’m serious here. We’re not talking about father’s funeral. I mean, I’m still surprised that Lizi expected us to go to that, but this is mother’s last wish. Don’t you think we owe her this at least?”

“I don’t think we owe her anything at all.”

“I don’t believe you actually mean it,” she commented and her expression softened a little.

Just like that she seemed a young girl again with her loose braids on her shoulders and her dirty skirts, her feet hanging from a tree in the garden and her eyes towards the horizon, far, far away from that house in the south.  
They used to be very close when they were little, used to be one another’s confidants. Then their father had made sure to make them grow up faster than any child should, especially Marie.

Mother had been nothing else but another victim of their father’s manipulative behaviour and deep down Grantaire knew he was wrong to blame her for marrying him.

The problem was that Marie knew it too and she was prepared to use it against him if Grantaire was going to make it necessary, he could read it in her eyes.

“All right, I’ll go, but just until mother’s alive, then I’m gone. I won’t be at the funeral.”

“Better than nothing,” commented Marie turning back in front of the mirror. “And do me the favour to use a proper scotch glass if you’re going to drink all of mine. There are some in the cabinet on the right.”

 

“Combeferre, my friend, has anyone ever told you that in you resides the knowledge of the Seven Wise: Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of Mytilene, Bias of Priene, Solon, Cleobulus of Lindus, Myson of Chenae and the seventh of them was said to be Chilon of Sparta, at least if we believe in what Protagoras made say to Socrates. Both Ephorus and Plutarch substituted Anacharsis for Myson and Diogenes Laertius further states that Dicaearchus gave ten possible names instead of seven and, in this case, you would certainly have a mind comparable to the ten of theirs together. Hippobotus, however, suggested twelve names, and Hermippus enumerated seventeen possible wise and for how much I hold your knowledge in great esteem I don’t think I could call myself an honest man if I claimed your mind equal to seventeen wise men’s minds.”

“What brings you here, Grantaire, isn’t today Friday?” asked the medical student amused. He had long since averted his gaze from the book he was reading to focus on Grantaire’s ramblings.  
That was one of the things Grantaire loved most about the man. He always seemed genuinely interested in Grantaire’s absurd mind jumps.

“And tell me, where should I be on a Friday, since you all know me so well?”

“Surely not having dinner at the Corinthe.”

Grantaire sighed. He ought to have a word with Louise about sharing his personal movements with everyone of her customers.

“My dear friend, I need a favour, and you’re the only one I can ask.”

“If it’s in my ability, I don’t see why I should answer no.”

“I’ll need to leave the city for a month, maybe less maybe more, the problem is that my landlord is all but waiting for a good reason to give my apartment to someone else and I fear that, if I were to leave my rooms unattended for more than a couple of days, he would gave them to the highest bidder.”

“So you want me to go pay a visit to your lodgings from time to time and make sure you’ll still have a place to sleep when you’re back in Paris.”

“That’s right. You’re the one living closest to my lodgings and...”

“Enjolras!!” called Combeferre interrupting him and Grantaire froze on the spot feeling, at the same time, his blood boiling in his veins.

He turned, so fast that his head started spinning, and here he was, bright as Phoebus Apollo on his golden chariot led by rose-fingered Eos. In his eyes the same flame that Prometheus had stolen from the gods to bring light at the human race, the same flame for which the Titan had been punished by the mighty Zeus.

“Grantaire, what are you doing here? Don’t you usually dine at the Petit Moulin on Friday?” he asked after returning his right-hand man’s greetings.

“Tu quoque, Brute?” he murmured and Enjolras, without any warning, smiled at him.  
Grantaire could have swore he felt Eros’ arrow sinking a little deeper inside his heart.

“I should have known that it would have taken me likening you to Brutus for you to smile at me at least once, Enjolras,” he said just before hiding his blushing face behind a glass of wine.

“He killed his own father,” commented Combeferre dryly.

“Adoptive father. And he did it for the sake of the Republic.”

Combeferre shook his head disapprovingly but his smile was affectionate.

“R was asking me to make sure his landlord won’t give away his rooms while he is out of Paris.” Combeferre informed him after Enjolras had placed his order.

“Nonsense. I’m closer to his rooms. You would lose more than twenty minutes walking. I’ll go,” stated Enjolras as if they were assigning the tasks of the week at one of their ABC meetings.

Grantaire nearly had to slap his cheek to force himself to talk.

“You. In my rooms. Alone.” he sputtered very eloquently.  
Probably it would have been better if he had stayed silent.

“I don’t know what stories Combeferre and Courfeyrac told you but I’m perfectly capable of keeping a place in order if I want to,” protested Enjolras, probably convinced that Grantaire’s lack of his usual verbosity came from some sort of distrust towards him.

“I’m sure you are,” Grantaire hurried to respond.

The idea of being indebted to the young leader amazed him, they were going to share something and even if it was something as little as a favour between friends Grantaire couldn’t help but feel ecstatic, even more because Enjolras had been the one to offer.

“As long as you don’t try to cook,” added Combeferre gaining an offended look from his friend.

“I’ll go there just to study and read, I won’t touch anything else than a chair and a desk,” he pointed out. 

Grantaire secretly hoped that Enjolras was not going to stay true to his words, he hoped to come back home and find proof of the leader’s presence in the house: a faint scent, a blond hair, a piece of paper scribbled in ink.  
He surely needed to tidy his rooms before leaving. And hide some of his paintings probably.

“Why do you need to leave any-ouch-Combeferre what… oh, yes, right, nothing.”

Enjolras remained silent and focused his gaze on a drop of wine slowly running down the neck of the bottle. Grantaire glanced between Enjolras’ contrite face and Combeferre’s disappointed one really confused about what was going on until his mind caught up and then he sighed.

“Who told you?” he asked passing a hand on his face.

“Courfeyrac,” they answered in unison.

He promised himself he was going to kill Courfeyrac, but when he found an encouraging expression on Enjolras’s face, instead of the pitying look he had expected, he decided to to let the scoundrel live just once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, leave some comments to let me know what do you think. As always the biggest thank you to my beta lawrofsakaar, she's great.
> 
> Come to say hi on my tumblr [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (I'll be posting every two Monday)


	2. Lies are detected even through mail and a plan of action is made

_Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, 20th of February 1832_

_My dearest friends,_

_I_ _'ve finally arrived, after a week of travel with my lovely sister Marie. Such a terrific journey._

_We had all the time we needed to catch up on what we miss during this year and chat about our respective personal matters, such a wonderful pleasure._

_Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is as beautiful as I left it nearly seven years ago, blessed by Mother Nature with never-ending emerald woods and cerulean see so clear and flat that you can't tell where the sea ends and the sky starts._

_You can almost imagine being in that forgotten age narrated by Hesiod, where the Earth was nothing more than the daughter of Chaos and no human life walked her tawny back, and to be admiring a secret union between Pontus and Uranus._

_The calm and peace, which reign in this locus amoenus, make impossible to believe we are gathered here to assist to such a dreadful event. And maybe it's why Mother wanted all of us here and not at Jean-Philippe's family's Manor in Arles: not a soul can distract us from the company of our beloved family; not an inn, pub or tavern can disrupt our peacefully evening in the gardens._

_How I missed strolling in the immense library, empty but for myself, looking for some of the books my Father considered too scandalous to expose to the sight._

_Of course, it is also such a pleasure to have all the family reunited at last. Jacque Alexandre, actually, has still to arrive, he stopped for a couple of days in Avignon because of some clerical matters he has still to reveal to us. Elisabeth is really worried about this delay, she frets that he won't be here on time for Mother's depart, I think, but the pregnancy, the girls and Mother's illness are enough sources of distraction and anyway I'm sure that Our Lord will wait until one of his most devoted sons will be able to pay his last goodbye to his loved mother._

_Marie and Angelique are the ones who are worst bearing the situation; they both spend plenty of time in their rooms or outside with lengthy promenades on the majestic seaside._

_I_ _imagine you would want to know about Mother's health, well, I can't lie, I've seen her better, but she's carrying her illness with the grace and presence of spirit with which she has conducted her whole life._

 _Everyone here sends their best regards, I_ _hope to have your news as soon as possible._

_Your most affectionate friend,_

_Grande R_

_Paris, 28th of February 1832_

_O_ _ur dear R,_

_We were so excited when we saw your letter arrive. You can imagine our disappointment then, when, reading it, it became clear you had filled it with lies._

_Of course, we know you lied because you don't want us to worry about your well-being and you don't want to become the source of any of our troubles, but, our dear friend, we've known each other for so long, you really believed we couldn't have told? In such a difficult moment you should be able to rely on your best of friends and we are more than happy to take part of your struggles on our shoulders as you have been happy to do the same in the past._

_Musichetta was, to be completely honest, very concerned about the entire situation and especially about you and Jean-Philippe. She wrote to Jean-Philippe to ask if you needed help with anything and he sent her an invitation to spend the next two weeks with your family at Saintes Maries, maybe Jeanne-Philippe and Elizabeth had already informed you. The invitation was extended to the both of us, me and Bossuet, but we didn't want to take a decision before we had heard from you._

_Remember, before answering us, that we couldn't be happier than be near you in every moment of your life, the good and the bad ones. You don't have to face this alone, dearest R._

_With unconditional love, your friends,_

_Joly and Bossuet_

_Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, 6th of March 1832_

_My most loved friends,_

_I'm very sorry to have lied to you in my previous letter._

_As you have already stated in your last, I didn't do it with the intention of offending you, of course, but because the difficulties and concerns that I have at the moment are probably completely facetious for anyone else._

_I hate this place as I'd hated it in my younger years._

_Bland people living in plain houses around geometrical squares and straight roads. No life, no mysteries, not the ridden, lusty and colorful atmosphere of Paris._

_I miss the prostitutes and the thieves, the drunkards and the grisettes. The nights in the taverns, the morning watching the sun rising over the roofs, the light of the midnight moon swimming in the Sein, the warmth of the Musain's wine, nothing of that exists and will ever exist in a place such as this._

_Here everything seems stuck in a never-changing cycle of insignificance and boredom, they must have resisted everything that happened on the course of history: from the Latins, through Charles the Great and the Revolution, until today they have remained attached to their little and unimportant lives. Everything here loses his meaning, even history itself, even Life._

_The only thing that seems able to enliven the bland townspeople is gossip and isn't my family trying to provide all that is needed?_

_If I'm not wrong Jean-Philippe already wrote to Musichetta about Angelique's secret engagement which is causing a bit of tension in the house._

_Elizabeth and Jacques forbade us to talk about it with Mother lest worsening her precarious conditions. This decision is the only subject on which Elizabeth and Jacques Alexandre haven't fought since he arrived, nearly a week later than he had said he would. Their continuing bickering is not at all helping better the house atmosphere which is dark and heavy enough._

_Marie has suffered three nervous breakdowns since we arrived, that's why she spends so much time out of the house, and I'm starting to feel the consequences of rejecting alcohol, not that there would be anything I could do about it: my dear brother locked it away and keeps the key with him at all times._

_You've also been right assuming that Elizabeth and Jean-Philippe warned me of Musichetta's arrival. They asked for my permission actually and I suggested to extend the invitation to the both of you so you have, with no doubt, my permission to accept it._

_To tell the truth, the concept of which you have such a high esteem, I'm looking forward to having the three of you here with me. A very selfish wish, I know, I wouldn't wish even at my worst enemy to spend his time in this place and in a time like this, but I miss you more than words can express._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_your loving R_

_P_ _aris, 15th of March 1832_

_Our dear R,_

_Before reading this letter, we want you to summon to your mind the profound and true sentiment of friendship that binds us together._

_As you can imagine, at least we hope you can imagine, your other friends are very concerned about your well-being._

_We, of course, are often the target of questions about your feelings, your mother's illness and your siblings and nieces' names and current health. Knowing what you'd wanted, we try not to worry them too much and usually we give them vague and general positives answers._

_This method couldn't work forever, so we decided to let them read the first letter you send us believing Combeferre's calm and reassuring voice able to hide the sarcastic tone with which you wrote it._

_Unfortunately, I, Joly, made the idiotic mistake to leave the letter in Bossuet's hands for more than three seconds and, I don't know nor how nor when, he accidentally exchanged the letters, but by the time we realized Combeferre was reading the second letter you sent us, it was too late: if we had snatched it from his hand to hide it or, better still, destroy it forever everyone would have started asking even more questions._

_We let him finish and then started reassuring everyone that we have the situation under control and we are going to reach you in Saintes Maries and be by your side in this difficult time._

_It turned out we should have burnt that letter in front of everyone and then escape without giving any explanation of the sort._

_They spent the rest of the meeting discussing the best course of action to help you: Enjolras left the floor to Courfeyrac, who revealed himself to be very sensible and effective, and they voted by rising of hands the best solutions while we watched, in part horrified thinking about your reaction and in part with fondness towards our lovely friends._

_You must admit we are pretty lucky to have found them._

_Anyway, the decision voted by the most was to come to Saintes Maries with us and Musichetta, rent a house by the see of one of Bahorel's cousins and promptly turn back to Paris in the case you shouldn't want them there at all. Enjolras is writing you a letter right now to inform you of this decision, but they won't wait for your response before leaving so you can spare yourself the intellectual exertion to think how to respond to a letter from Enjolras._

_Remember the sentiment of friendship we asked you to summon at the beginning of this letter? Well, we hope it's still there in some part of your mind, also because we have to ask you one last thing: before definitely decide that you don't want to be a burden to them and send them away the moment they arrive in Saintes Maries, think of your friends and how worried they were, not only because they thought you might be in distress but also because they fear you must have felt abandoned by them because they didn't write to you, under our request by the way; think of your friends spending an entire evening discussing how to better help you without putting you in an uncomfortable situation._

_T_ _hink if aren't these the friends you most need to pass through this moment in your life with the less damage possible._

_They love you so much, R, and so do we,_

_With never-ending love, your two best friends among numerous other loving friends,_

_Joly and Bossuet_

_Paris, 15th of March 1832_

_Dear Grantaire,_

_We received the news about the difficult situation you're living right now in your childhood home._

_First of all, I feel the need to state that no one is judging you for asking help and comfort to some of your dearest friends, exactly as no one is cross with you for not writing about it before to any of us._

_Many of us understand how difficult it is asking for help and put part of your own burden on your friends' shoulders._

_A_ _fter your last letter, it was impossible for us continuing to ignore your situation, as Joly and Bossuet kindly asked when you left for your family's house. It was clear we had to take a decision to help you bear this complicated moment._

_It is not in our nature to leave a comrade and a friend alone._

_As much as we want to be at your side we are aware that impose us on your family in a time of mourning like the one your living at the moment could be completely disrespectful and aggravate even more your already tense atmosphere._

_We decided to rent Bahorel's cousin's holiday house which is located by the seaside if I understood correctly your house is more in the inland, and come to visit you when and if you desire._

_We will leave the day after tomorrow with Joly, Lesgles and Musichetta so, in the case you intend to write us a letter to pray us not to come, we won't receive it, but I want it to be clear that if you don't want us there, not even in Bahorel's cousin house, then we will leave immediately._

_We only want to be a source of comfort for you and we don't want to worsen your situation in any way._

_If everything goes the right way we should arrive in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer a couple of day after this letter, don't worry about coming to welcome us, Musichetta and Joly say they already know the town so they can show us around. You can send us a card telling when we can visit you or if you prefer when you will come to visit us whenever you'll have the time or the inclination._

_I will conclude with a personal note: I admire greatly how you're caring and being strong for your family, you're certainly a great example of one of the meanings of pietas that most people, me most of all, often forget. I hope to be able to prove your same strength when my family will need it from me._

_With affection,_

_Enjolras_

Grantaire banged his head on the desk, over the letter still open, and left it there.

Maybe the words were going to magically dissolve in the air and release him from the psychological cage that that situation represented.

Of course, he wanted nothing more than have his friends, all of his friends, there with him: the pain he felt for his abstinence from alcohol wasn't even comparable with the hole he felt every day in his chest knowing he was still not going to see them.

On the other side, though, he couldn't ask his friends that kind of sacrifice of their time and energies: surely, they had better things to do than hold his hand while he had childlike crises, especially Enjolras.

Enjolras.

He lifted his head a little, enough to be able to look at the scribbled letters at the bottom of the page and he felt his cheeks turn crimson in an instant.

He laid his head on the table again with a loud thump and sighed.

"Is everything all right, uncle Adrian? Is the second time you do that," asked worriedly Sylvie, the first of his sister's daughters.

After dinner, she had asked if she could've kept him company while he took care of his correspondence in the little studio and he had been more than happy to say yes.

Right at that moment though he was regretting his decision, Sylvie was too much intelligent for her own good.

"Of course, sweetie, your uncle is just a little tired that's all," he answered more than sure that it wasn't going to stop his niece's inquisitiveness.

"Who is that letter from?"

She had placed her book on the ground and she was standing on the armchair trying to glimpse at the letter in question.

"No one," he claimed while covering the name at the bottom with his hand.

"Are you blushing?" She pressed while balancing herself with her knees on the arm of the chair and her hands on her uncle's desk, an innocent expression on her young face.

"Of course I'm not blushing, adults don't blush."

She remained silent which prompted Grantaire to believe he had miraculously won that interaction.

He was wrong.

"Is it from your sweetheart?" She queried, delighted at the mere assumption.

At that question Grantaire finally lifted his head scandalized.

"No, oh no. Absolutely not," he declared with finality.

Sylvie smiled victoriously and got back to sit properly on the armchair.

"But you wish they were," she singsonged.

There was no use to even try to deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, sorry, the next one will be more like the first one. And also I'm sorry for the delay (I had trouble with internet until today). All the mistakes in this chapter are completely mine because my beta had some problem this pas two weeks and couldn't help me, she's incredible anyway. I hope you enjoyed reading and I hope you'll stay with me at least until the next chapter. Let me know if/what/when/why you liked it in the comment and come to find me at [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	3. The subject of siblings gets thoroughly investigated

Musichetta was the first one to descend from the coach and she literally run towards Grantaire.

He caught her by the waist and made her spin in the air, he was so happy to see her again.

"I missed you so much," she said once Grantaire had put her down again.

"And didn't you miss me?" Asked a male voice coming from behind Grantaire's back.

"Philippe!" She exclaimed excited seeing the man and sprinted to hug him too.

"Hey, if you were wondering we missed you too," Bossuet said laying the luggage on the ground.

"I'm so happy to see the three of you," Grantaire replied and a moment later he was crushed by the double hug of both Joly and Bossuet.

He would have never admitted that out loud, but when they stepped back Grantaire could feel his eyes wet.

Musichetta had also freed Philippe from her hug and now was kneeling on the ground while Sylvie showed her how tall she had become since last summer.

Lizi approached, slowed down by the round belly, a child on her hip and another at her side.

"Uncle Joly!" Screamed Antoinette delighted from behind her mother skirts.

"Hi little one, how are you?" Inquired Joly walking towards her, she squealed in joy and immediately attached to his good leg making him nearly fall backward.

Lizi laughed and lightly reprimanded her daughter before walking to Grantaire and Bossuet. She had Eliane in her arms, the youngest of her daughters, who wasn't three yet.

"Do you remember uncle Bossuet, my love? He came to visit us in Arles last year," she asked the baby who was staring at the young man with wide and curious eyes.

Eliane nodded energetically and made grubby hands in Bossuet direction.

"I think someone lost interest in her mother," commented Lizi amused and offered the baby to Bossuet.

"Oh, I really don't trust myself around kids," he said apologetically taking a step back.

"Nonsense, at this age they're unbreakable, believe me. I took enough useless frights with the first two. I'm sure she'll be fine," she said and practically thrust the kid in the man's hands.

"It is always nice to be remembered that I'm the fourth favorite uncle," commented Grantaire playing hurt.

"That's not true uncle R, we love you much," protested Antoinette from behind Joly's leg.

"You're all on the same level, after auntie Chetta," added Sylvie with a very serious expression.

Eliane nodded in accord and started sucking her thumb.

Everybody started laughing happily and Grantaire felt some kind of strange heaviness being lifted from his stomach.

"So, where are your other friends? I was really excited to meet them," inquired Lizi looking around searching for a second coach.

"They took the public car, it's a little slower but more affordable and it arrives directly in town. We're going to welcome them later when they arrive," answered Joly.

"Perfect, then you have time to come back home with us and refresh yourself a little before your friends arrive. How does it sound?"

"It sounds perfect, Lizi, thank you so much," said Musichetta relieved and all of them followed Phillipe towards the house.

Joly and Musichetta were hands in hands respectively with Antoinette and Sylvie while Bossuet had put Eliane on his shoulders and the baby was laughing delighted half lying on the man's bald head. Grantaire remained behind to offer his sister his arm which she happily accepted.

"Every time I forgot how uncomfortable your belly becomes after the fourth month," she grumbled leaning against her brother. "It nearly makes you hope the baby will arrive as early as Antoinette did."

"Lizi, you nearly lost Annie." He reminded her.

She waved a hand in the air dismissing her brother's protest.

"I said nearly. Anyway, you're planning to go welcome your friends with Joly, Bossuet, and Chetta, right?"

"Actually, I was planning to see them for dinner tonight. I don't want to leave you to tend mother, the children and the house all on your own."

"Don't be silly. I'm not alone, we've got other three siblings if you don't remember and I was even capable to find a husband who, by the way, vowed to be at my side in the good an in the bad fate, so, you know, he has no choice but to help me."

"I've always known it was a marriage of interest," Grantaire joked and he almost saw Lizi smile.

"What I was trying to say is that you can, no, you must go welcome your friends, we can survive without you for an afternoon. Go to them, have some fun, distract yourself."

"Thank you, Lizi."

"Don't thank me, you deserve it. Oh, and before I forget, mother wants you to invite them for dinner at the house this evening."

Grantaire didn't know how to feel in regard to that information.

Surely, chatting with his friends during dinner instead to having to hear his brother rant about the decadence of Christian values was a tempting option, but at the same time, he was probably thrusting his brother's boringness upon them. Besides, even if a part of him knew his friends were probably capable to behave appropriately if necessary, he had never seen them act appropriately in any situation.

"I don't know Lizi… don't you think mother's going to uselessly tire herself?" He questioned unsurely.

"Almost definitely, but you know how she adores playing the part of the host and I think it could make her happy having someone else in the house for once."

"All right, I'll invite them. But I won't take any responsibility if something goes wrong."

"We'll blame Jaques Alexandre," she assured him and that time Lizi didn't even try to hide her smile.

 

It was strange seeing the eclectic energy of his friends in the calm and bland atmosphere of Sainte Maries. Still, Grantaire couldn't have been happier to see them there.

All of them had come: Feuilly had said to his boss that he had a mourning in the family and he had been granted three free weeks.

"It's not so much of a lie, after all, right?" He had said hugging Grantaire and the artist had to fight back tears.

Louise had, surprisingly, come too, she didn't want to say how she had managed to convince her parents, but Jehan revealed him that that had cost her some kind of favor to her sister.

Even Pontmercy, Courfeyrac's awkward friend, had come. Grantaire suspected it was more due to the fact that Courfeyrac hadn't wanted to leave him alone in Paris, the fellow didn't seem to have any other friend.

Combeferre wasn't exactly delighted.

"Sara really wanted to come, but with Marie away from the theatre she has actually more work to do," explained Bahorel apologetically.

"That's not a problem, really. Thank her for me," he had reassured his him.

And Enjolras had come.

That wasn't such an incredible information actually, seeing as all of his friends were there and for the fact that he had been the one to write to him to explain why they were coming. Still, Grantaire had some difficulties to believe that Enjolras considered him a friend.

Enjolras and Combeferre had been the last one to descend from the coach and had helped the driver to unload the luggage. They generously tipped the man before reaching the others who were gathered around Grantaire.

Both of them kissed him on his cheeks to great him.

Both of them.

That meant that Grantaire felt the soft lips of Enjolras on his coarse cheeks and he was ready to swear that the same fire that brightened the leader's eyes lived also on his tongue because his lips left the same sensation of embers on naked skin. Not that that was much of a surprise: Grantaire had assisted to more than one of Enjolras fiery speeches. Behind the blonde hair which was partially blocking his visual, he could see Joly and Courfeyrac's faces bursting with excitement.

"I'm glad we came, you seem really tense," commented Enjolras after they had parted.

Grantaire would have wanted to tell him that the reason why he was so tense at the moment was the slender hand still resting on his shoulder and not his family's current problems, but fortunately his mind-to-mouth filter sometimes still worked and he just nodded and took a step back. The hand slipped down his arm all but too fast and swiftly returned at Enjolras' side.

"Let's all get inside, shall we? I'm looking forward to seeing Bahorel's cousin's house," exclaimed Jehan joyfully and everyone agreed and followed Bahorel to the house.

Courfeyrac though made a point to remain last with Grantaire just to wink at him and then sprint into the house at Combeferre's side.

He was probably going to smother him before the end of their stay.

 

Grantaire was smiling.

His friends had arrived for no more than a couple hours and he already felt his heart less heavy. He was slumped on the sofa in Bahorel's cousin's living room watching Combeferre decimating Bossuet at chess while Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel had taken possession of the piano and where entraining everyone with some famous song. Musichetta had her feet on his lap and was cheering Bossuet on while Louise, on the floor with her back leaned against the sofa, half followed the game half chimed in on Enjolras and Feuilly's discussion about some kind of revolt in Italy against the Pope or the Austrians. He wasn't really paying attention but with Italy, it was always one of those two. On the other side of the sofa, Joly was fast asleep while Marius was reading a thick volume in what seemed German that Jehan had lent him.

Grantaire closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had more than three consecutive hours of sleep and there, between the sweet notes of the song and his friends' merry chattering, had no reason not to shift peacefully into sleep.

He was woken up by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He mumbled a sleepy protest, he really wanted to keep sleeping. In his mind, it couldn't have passed more than a couple of minutes and he had intended to recover all the hours of sleep lost during the last weeks.

"R, sweetheart, your sister's here and she's asking of you," came the voice of Musichetta.

Grantaire stirred lazily on the sofa's cushions and glanced at the entrance: indeed, there she was, Elizabeth. She had a strange look on her face, between bemused and touched that, more than anything, gave Grantaire the strength to stand up and approach her.

"You have a strange expression," he stated after nearing her on the threshold.

"I'm just smiling."

"Exactly."

Lizi gave him a sideways glance, but she ultimately decided to dismiss her brother's silliness.

"I have to ask you a favor but I hate to break the evident peace you found here with your friends," she informed him and she sounded truly distraught.

She glanced towards the living room where the others had started some sort of card game and they were trying to teach the rules to Pontmercy. She had that strange look on her face again.

"What are you smiling at?" He asked curiously.

Elizabeth was a woman of few affections: she loved her husband dearly and their daughters with all her soul, she adored her mother and loved her siblings with the kind of love that comes with having to care for someone for so long that you start forgetting the difference and she had grown fond of Musichetta over the years, but that was it. She wasn't quick to love or affection, even sympathy, so Grantaire doubted she had already some kind of feeling towards his friends.

"I've been worried for years that you were going to spend your life alone, without a family of your own. I'm just relieved to know that you've found one in some kind of way, not as I had expected, but a family nonetheless."

"Marie is right, motherhood changed you. You're all sweet and loving now." Lizi rolled her eyes.

"It is impossible to have a serious conversation with you," she declared.

"I try my best. You said you needed a favor."

"That's right. Mother had another of her episode, don't worry about it, Jaques and I have the situation under control but between this and Philip taking care of Marie's changing moods we really don't know who to leave the children with. I'd really hate to give the housemaids another task."

"Are you asking me to keep the harpies until this evening?"

"It would be greatly appreciated."

"There's no problem at all. I'll have to tell to my friends to go have fun without me, but they'll understand."

"Thank you, dear. Oh, and you'll have to take an eye on Angelique too."

"Lizi, did you bring her here as if she is one of your little children?" He asked with just the tiniest hint of disappointment. Elizabeth really didn't need judgment from another member of the family.

"She gave me no choice: with all her talks about secret engagements and eloping with the love of her life, it is not as if I can let her roam freely in the gardens. Just keep an eye on her, all right?"

"It'll be done."

"Thank you. They're in the cart, I'll send them here."

"I'll inform the others."

It turned out the only person not perfectly happy with the whole situation was his little sister: Angelique barely said goodbye to Lizi and grimly accepted to be presented to Grantaire and Musichetta’s friends but made a point to not return any of the smiles.

But apart from Angelique’s dark mood, the greetings went on without any bump at list until Enjolras’ turn.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, citizen Angelique.” Enjolras had the habit to greet everyone in the same manner, may they had been nobles or beggars, men or women which was very noble of him, like any other thing that he did, but Grantaire had really hoped he would have skipped the "citizen" part to greet a seventeen years old girl.

Angelique's expression froze and Grantaire cringed. She turned towards her brother.

"Did he just call me citizen?" She asked in total disbelief.

"Yes, he does that," he answered trying not to sound too much amused.

She sighed.

"Well, your friend your problem. Maybe if you give them something else on which worrying about they'll stop obsessing with me. Is there a garden where I can go to read?"

Bahorel nodded immediately and escorted her in the garden on the back of the house, on his face an expression delighted and worried at the same time.

"What did that mean?" Asked Enjolras mildly annoyed by being treated as if he hadn't been present during the conversation.

"You may be surprised by this, but my family isn't exactly enthusiast about Republican fervor."

Enjolras expression darkened.

"Is our presence here going to exacerbate your relationship with your family? And be honest please," asked Feuilly worried.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure Lizi already suspect something and she has been nothing but thrilled to have you here. The only one who could actually protest is Jaques but he has already enough to complain about."

“And your mother?” Pressed Jehan worriedly.

“Don’t try to convert her to the noble cause of Republicanism and no one will say nothing to her, really, everyone is just happy to have you all here,” answered Grantaire trying to dissipate their worries.

After travel for so long just to come to comfort him the least he could do was not letting them feeling guilty.

“Look who’s here!” Exclaimed at that moment Musichetta appearing in the threshold, Elaine in her arms and Sylvie and Antoinette by her side.

Everybody seemed to forget the matter at hand to concentrate on Grantaire’s nieces. Everybody except for Enjolras who stayed behind with Grantaire looking at him with a strange light in his eyes. He took a breath as if preparing to say something but then remained silent and just smiled at Grantaire before joining the others in the small circle around Musichetta and the girls.

Grantaire remained in the same exact spot, mesmerized.

 

Grantaire couldn’t believe himself: he had proposed to the others to go have fun in the town while he watched over his nieces, but his friends had simply refuted the suggestion and had insisted to stay with him, not only that, everyone seemed quite content to play the part of the nurse to three little girls.

Well, almost everyone.

“No, I really don’t like babies, thank you,” said Louison when Jehan suggested her to take Eliane on her knees.

“Could you please don’t make those kinds of comments at two feet from my nieces,” pleaded Grantaire from his seated position on the floor where he could see Feuilly teaching Antoinette how to draw little animals on a piece of parchment.

Louison rolled her eyes and turned towards Sylvie who was following the exchange with great interest.

“I’m sorry I don’t like you right now, I’m sure in five or six years it won’t be the case anymore.”

Sylvie remained silent for some seconds, probably considering Louise’s words, and then nodded.

“No, I understand, it makes sense,” she said with finality.

“See, she’s fine.”

“I really don’t understand how could you not like children, you have two little brothers,” commented Jehan while bouncing little Eliane on his knees.

“And so? Probably they’re the reason I don’t like babies in the first place.”

“So, didn’t you have to help taking care of them?”

“No, that was my sister’s duty. Anyway, if we followed this logic you should have been horrible with them.”

“I may be an only child, but I have a lot of cousins of any age and I've always helped taking care of the little ones. Children are marvelous,” declared Jehan with a dreamy expression while Eliane played with the laces at the hem of his sleeves.

“I understand Louise, though. – said Joly who was also very invested in Feuilly’s art lesson. – I really hated taking care of the twins when they were little, if it weren’t for my older sister’s sons I would have had her same opinion.”

“Comparing taking care of your siblings and taking care of any other child makes no sense, I’m sure all my sisters hated taking care of me but they’re all more than happy mothers now,” stated Bahorel who was braiding Sylvie’s hair.

“Elaine and Antoinette aren’t so bad,” intervened the young girl thoughtfully but missed Antoinette rolling her eyes at her.

“I agree with the young lady," said Combeferre with a very serious expression. "I loved taking care of my little brother as I’m sure my older sister was happy taking care of me, it helps build the character having to watch after someone else.”

“My character was perfectly built without such a burden, thank you,” replayed Bossuet from his reclined position on one of the sofas, half sprawled on Musichetta.

“Mine too, but I have to say I’m looking forward to meeting my first nephew, my sister promised me I’ll be the godfather and I really can’t wait,” Courfeyrac told them with commotion.

“That is very sweet, dear. And believe me, it is such a moving moment, I’ll never forget Sylvie’s Christening, I was near tears,” gushed Musichetta happily.

Grantaire remembered very well when Lizi had proposed Musichetta as Sylvie's godmother, Jean-Philippe's mother nearly had a stroke while the young grisette was beaming with pure joy.

“I didn’t know Musichetta was related to Grantaire’s family. I always thought they had met through Joly or Bossuet,” admitted Pontmercy shily.

Grantaire gasped in mock offense.

“Are you saying you don’t know how I singlehandedly brought love and joy in the life of these three children of Beauty herself.”

“You’re always so dramatic,” sighed Joly.

“My mother was Jean-Philippe’s nurse," explained Musichetta at Pontmercy bemused expression." She raised him as her own son and since I was born he has treated me as his sister. He always considered us his true family which may seem not very kind to his parents, but they are both terrible so there’s no need to feel sorry for them.”

“So, Chetta and I met at… when was it? Lizi and Philippe’s engagement’s dinner?” Asked Grantaire unsure.

“Yes, exactly and we spent all night complaining about living in a small provincial town.”

“Yes, I can picture you two doing that at an engagement dinner,” snorted Feuilly under his breath.

“Lizi and Philippe didn’t notice, they were too lost in each other," she said waving a hand in the air as if to chase away the insinuation. "Anyway, then, when R decided to move to Paris, I went with him because Philippe had found me work in a pottery factory near the city.”

“And the moment I found our Jolllly during one of my strolls around the city, I immediately decided to introduce them and wasn’t that the best decision of my life?”

“He always says like that, but I strongly suspect it happened by chance,” commented Bossuet eliciting a laugh from everyone but Grantaire who shook his head with gravity.

“No, no, no I knew exactly what I was doing. Proof of this is that when I met the magnificent Lesgles, our incredible Eagle, less than a month later, I immediately introduced you two and then insisted that Musichetta should meet him too.”

“I remember that after we became friends you spent nearly two months introducing me to a suspiciously high number of people, I still don’t understand what was going on in that mind of yours,” recalled Joly smiling at the memory of his friend's strange behavior.

“I just wanted everyone to know that my best friend was better than everyone else’s,” explained Grantaire with a grin, everybody laughed and Joly smile after those words could have lighted an entire room.

“Well, seeing that Louise doesn’t want anything to do with this young lady, Enjolras will have to take her. Nature’s calling me,” said Jehan after he stopped chuckling while carefully positioning Eliane on Enjolras’ knees.

“You really don’t have to use that expression, you know,” commented Grantaire shaking his head.

“I personally found it quite poetic,” protested Jehan before standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

“I, uhm, never held a child before actually,” said Enjolras and he sounded anxious.

Grantaire looked immediately up towards the sofa where Enjolras was balancing Eliane on the edge of his knees barely holding to her sides with the tips of his fingers, an expression of vague discomfort on his face.

He reacted instinctively, nearly without thinking: before he could realize what he was doing he had seated on the sofa next to Enjolras, he had rearranged the leader’s hands so that Eliane could be held more securely and he had shifted the baby so she seated more comfortably on the other man's lap. He really could not let her fall and hurt herself or Lizi was going to skin him alive.

Eliane smiled up at him delighted by all the attention and Grantaire returned the smile completely smitten by his niece sweetness, so different from her parents' usually collected demeanor.

He bent to give a kiss on her curly hair and only when he straightened back up he became aware of his position: he was shoulder to shoulder with the young leader, their tighs nearly touching and one of his hand was still covering Enjolras’.

He glanced at Enjolras fearing the expression he was going to find on his face, but he was just smiling happily and a little amused as if Grantaire’s fussing over his niece was funny or even endearing.

Endearing.

What a stupid thought, Enjolras had never found anything Grantaire did endearing, he wasn’t certainly going to start at that moment.

Grantaire nearly jumped on the far end of the sofa putting the more distance possible between him and Enjolras feeling his cheeks turning as red as two apples.

He truly was pathetic.

On the opposite side of the sofa, he could see Louise watching him intently like she was trying to solve an enigma. Grantaire prayed any kind of divine entity to stop her from saying something inappropriate.

“You really should practice taking care of babies, Enjolras. My sister said you are the second in line to be a godfather,” said Courfeyrac cheerily and Grantaire could have kissed him at that moment. Always trust Courfeyrac to break the tension in a room.

“You have two other brothers who surely will come before me, but I’d love to be one of your nephews’ godfather someday. Never had a lot of experience with children before, but so did you, so I'm not too worried,” he said so while experimentally trying to bounce Eliane on his knees and smiled almost proudly when she giggled delightedly. Grantaire felt his heart slowly melting at the sight and had to mentally slap himself to regain some composure. 

“I don’t need practice. I’m a natural. Right, Sylvie?” Courfeyrac asked the young girl with a bright grin which she returned before nodding energetically.

“Enjolras isn’t too bad himself for his first time,” commented Joly.

“That’s true, you’ve never had even a little cousin or something like that?” Asked Musichetta curious.

“No, no one. My mother is an only child and my father’s uncle never married, but one of my mother’s friends had this grandson who sometimes they asked me to look after while they were having tea together. It was nice.”

“Who would have thought that our Enjolras had parental instincts?” commented Feuilly amused.

“I wouldn’t say so. With some children it’s just easier, that’s all. And your nieces, Grantaire, are lovely. Truly, three wonderful little citizens.”

At those words, Grantaire huffed trying very hard not to smile.

It was clear Enjolras had added that last part just to get some reactions out of him, you could read that on his face: open and smiling with some traces of mischief. Grantaire had never seen him like that, well yes he had, but those were not moments that had been meant for him, they had been for Courfeyrac and Combeferre and some other lucky friend, but not Grantaire, never Grantaire.

At that moment though, Enjolras was smiling to him and had said something to him with the precise purpose of making him smile. It almost felt like a dream.

He wanted to say something clever to make Enjolras laugh in return, but then Jehan came back from the bathroom. He had a troubled expression on his face.

“R, could you come here a moment, please?” He said with concern and Grantaire immediately hurried to reach him.

“What’s wrong, my friend?”

The poet guided him near one of the backroom’s windows which overlooked the garden, he was blushing, which wasn’t such a strange behavior for Jehan, but he seemed also very agitated which was weirder.

He pointed out past one of the windows to somewhere near the maritime pines that surrounded the small piece of land on the back of the house. There, under the branches, on a small stone bench, his sister Angelique was hand in hand with a stranger.

Grantaire let out an annoyed grunt.

“Is she out of her mind? Inviting her secret fiancé here. She must think I’m brainless, yes, this must be the explanation: she thinks her brother was not provided with a brain at birth or maybe he has lost it along the way and so she can behave as inappropriately as she wants under his care.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a little, now, my dear? She’s just a girl in love.”

“Oh, don’t use that word, especially not in front of her. Well, now I have to go be the evil brother. Incredible, really,” he said sighing dramatically and then exited through the door that led to the back garden, Jehan followed him a couple of steps behind.

“I genuinely can not understand what made you think this was a winning idea,” he stated once outside.

Angelique and his fiancé jumped on the spot and quickly separated even though, Grantaire noticed, they kept their hands linked.

“Oh, Adrian, please, don’t make this situation worse than it really is: I’m just talking to my fiancé, hardly the worst thing anyone in our family has ever done,” his sister said almost condescendingly.

“Well, now you’re not even trying to say things of some sense,” he replayed rolling his eyes. He could feel Jehan shifting awkwardly on his feet behind him. He hated putting his friend in such a situation, but he was convinced that if it had been only he and Angelique, his sister would have made more of a scene and he wanted to avoid that at all cost.

Truly, all this secret engagement drama Angelique was putting on was starting to feel a little tiring. They all had more important problems at the moment than explaining to a seventeen-year-old girl why marrying someone she had known for less than a year was not an option.

“I’m just saying that you moved to Paris and lied to father for years saying you where studying commerce when you were working in an atelier and now you are friends with Republicans, of all people.”

“I have a profound respect for the republican sentiment, monsieur Grantaire,” announced the secret fiancé with a proud expression.

“If you think this will in any way help you win the affection of our family, you’re profoundly wrong,” commented Grantaire with a shrug and the boy went back to hold Angelique’s hand in a contrite silence.

“And Marie run away! – went on Angelique with emphasis. – It is not as if what I’m doing here is even comparable to that. You know, dear, maybe I should flee too so I could get married without anyone telling me what to do,” she concluded addressing the boy and sounding almost excited at the idea.

Grantaire couldn’t take that sort of talks.

“All right, this is enough. Get inside, the both of you. Now.”

Angelique rolled her eyes but did as ordered and her fiancé followed immediately behind in complete silence, but at the moment they all entered the house the young boy abruptly turned to Grantaire.

“Monsieur Grantaire, you have no reason to punish Angelique, coming here was my idea, she’s just trying to protect me.”

Grantaire huffed.

“No one is going to punish anyone. I’m not even going to tell this to Lizi, God knows she has already enough on her plate. Just don’t put me in the position where I’ll have to tell her, all right? I’ll try to convince her to invite you for a tea or something, but there must be no more secret meeting. Was I clear?”

“Yes, Monsieur, thank you,” answered the boy almost glowing with joy.

“Now, Jehan, would you be so kind as to show this young gentleman the door? I need to talk to Angelique for a moment.”

“Of course, my dear. Follow me, young man.”

The two lovers exchange their last goodbye: he kissed her hand passionately and she blushed before slipping her handkerchief in his breast pocket. He kept turning back to look at her until he got through the door and Jehan closed it behind them.

Soon there were only Grantaire and his little sister in the empty corridor.

“I knew you would have understood. There’s really no reason to fret over my engagement, sure I didn’t tell you until I came back here, but we are in love and this is what matters,” started Angelique immediately, her eyes lost in some kind of reverie.

Grantaire could feel a headache pulsing at his temples. He tried to massage them with his hands but it didn’t provide the relief he had hoped. He took a deep breath.

“Listen to me. The only reason why I’ve consented to talk to Lizi about this is that it is clear by now that you will not desist in this insane charade. Bringing this upon your family in such a moment of grief displays a level of insensibility which I didn’t expect from you. Secondly, never, and I mean never, dare to talk about Marie’s escape ever again, especially in front of her. Do you think she did it for some sort of whimsical caprice? You’re very wrong, my dear, you don’t know how was life back then at home.”

During his monologue Angelique had been turning pale and stiffening more and more, her hand had become two fists at her side, and so Grantaire was not surprised when her answer dripped anger from every word.

“Of course, I don’t know! I’m too young to know, right? I’m always too young to do anything. I’m too young to know about father, I’m too young to know about Marie, I’m too young to help when mother doesn’t feel well and I’m too young to go live with you in Paris and now I’m even too young to fell in love. And who are you to lecture me like that? You’re not mother and you’re not Lizi, you’re just the brother who writes to me once a month and forgets my birthday. You’re exactly like father and I hate you,” she concluded before storming away towards the bedrooms and leaving Grantaire alone.

He remained there helpless, not knowing what to do.

She was right, he didn’t know her, he barely ever spoke to her, he surely was not the person most suited to lecture her on anything. And lecture her on how to be a responsible family member, of all things. He almost started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

His headache had already spread to all his brain, he could feel it pulsing inside his skull and he was pretty sure there were tears forming at the side of his eyes.

_“What do you mean I can’t stay here with you?”_

_“If you stay here father we’ll surely discover it, Marie.”_

_“Then let's just find another place where to stay, you and I, together, like when we were little.”_

_“Marie, we can’t, we’ll be out of money in a week and…”_

_"We could work."_

_"It's not that easy."_

_“No, of course not. Why make some sacrifices for your sister when you can keep drawing your pretty pictures with his damned money. I can’t believe it. You are exactly like father and I hate you.”_

His hand was in pain.

He opened his eyes, he didn't even notice he had closed them, and he realized he had punched the wall.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You are not like him, you know it. You know how he was and you’re not like him, even the most horrid thing that could ever come out of your mouth can’t be compared with what he used to say,” stated Joly in a soothing tone laying his head on Grantaire’s back. It was strange, but he actually felt relieved as if Joly’s head’s weight was alleviating the weight of the previous conversation.

“I’m just so tired Joly, I need to sleep,” he admitted almost without breath.

“Let me take you to mine, Boss and Chetta’s room. We’ll wake you when Lizi comes to get the girls back.”

Grantaire let himself been led without protesting. He laid on the bed and let his friend check his hand before closing his eyes.

He waited for Joly to get out of the room before starting to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this time I'm on time yay for me! Thank you all for reading, I hope I'm keeping up with your expectations. If you enjoyed it leave a comment to let me know. Every kudos/comments give me immense joy!  
> (still without a beta so, sorry for the mistakes)  
> Come to say hi to [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	4. Grantaire has to knot a cravat and deal with some foolish talks

Lizi arrived a couple hours before dinner. 

Angelique immediately got out of the house without saying goodbye to anyone and mounted on the cart ignoring her bother completely. 

“How did it go?” Lizi asked when Grantaire reached her at the door.

“Everything went very well, the girls fell in love with all my friends, sentiment which is totally reciprocated, but I did have a fight with Angelique.” 

“Oh dear, what happened?” She inquired worriedly. 

“Nothing bad. She talked about the engagement again, I may have answered with a little too much passion and she replayed in kind,” he lied easily. He had a long history of lying to his sister and it had almost become a habit. A habit he had hoped to lose, but which sometimes became handy again.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’d say that I’m surprised by her behavior, but it wouldn’t be true: both you and Marie went through this rebellious phase. It must run in the Grantaire family. In any case, I brought you your dinner clothes so you can change here.”

“Lizi, you shouldn’t have. I’m sure you need help at the house now.”

“No, really, everything has been taken care of, mother’s all right and Marie’s sleeping. And you already helped a lot today. Have another couple hour with your friends before the potential disaster that this dinner may turn out to be.” 

Grantaire cringed at that image. 

“You know, we can always call this off. I can tell mother that they were too tired from the trip. I don’t want to put you and your friends in an awkward situation. Especially with Angelique in this mood.”

“No, it’s all right Lizi, really. They’re all too excited to call it off now. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“If you’re so sure… What have you done to your hand?” She asked surprised taking her brother’s bandaged hand in hers. 

“Oh, nothing. Just a little incident that Joly exaggerated, as always,” he lied again. 

To be completely honest he really didn’t know exactly how the bandage appeared on his hand. He imagined Joly had entered the room when he was asleep and managed to medicate it without waking him up and in that case compliment to Joly, he was going to become the best surgeon in all of France. 

At that moment Courfeyrac and Jehan reached them with the three young girls whining almost desperately trying to convince the two men to let them stay there a little more. 

“I knew you would have tried to turn them against me,” commented Lizi after Courfeyrac and Jehan were able to bring them to the cart after various promises to play with them some more before dinner. 

“You have the most adorable daughters, madame,” said Jehan still waving to Antoinette.

Grantaire started laughing and she shook her head in disbelief.

“They really managed to bewitch you, didn’t they? I don’t think my brother introduced us, Messieurs.” 

“Well, you run away like a hare during hunting season," protested Grantaire annoyed. "Anyway, Lizi these are Courfeyrac and Prouvaire.”

“No first names?” She asked bemusedly. 

“It’s unimportant,” Answered him with a shrug.

“Adrian!” His sister reprimanded.

“Do not worry, madame, R’s right, we stopped using our first names between us a long time ago. It’ll be easier this way,” explained Courfeyrac with an elegant bow that made both Grantaire and Jehan roll their eyes. 

“Actually, I like my name very much, thank you," interjected the poet. "I was called Jean by my parents but I prefer Jehan.” 

“Ah! Another lover of the Middle Age, Jean-Philippe will be delighted. I’m Martha Elizabeth De Sabran, but you can call me Elizabeth. I don’t use my American name a lot these days.” 

“Madame, it is a pleasure meeting you, I heard our dear R mumbling about you a lot,” said Courfeyrac with a smirk.

“Courfeyrac,” whined Grantaire.

“I’m sure he was mumbling only fond things,” added the young man apologetically. 

Lizi conceded a small smile.

“I’m sure he was.”

“I’ll hope you’ll pardon my surely intrusive question, but you talked about an American name, am I wrong?” Asked Jehan suddenly very interested. 

“Oh, I’m guessing my brother didn’t tell you about it, but Grantaire’s not my maiden name. Our mother’s first husband was my father, they married when she was living in the United States, hence my name. Now I really have to go or the girls will never be ready for dinner. I’ll meet the others later. It has been a pleasure, Jehan and Courfeyrac.” 

She kissed his brother on the cheeks and waved the other two men goodbye before boarding the cart. 

“She’s not as cold as you let us believe,” commented Jehan once the cart had disappeared between the houses. 

“She’s smiling a lot lately. Marie and I are actually worried.” 

The other two shook their head but didn’t make other comments about that.

“You never told us about your mother first marriage,” pointed out Courfeyrac. 

“And why should I have? It is in no way a story worth telling, rather boring actually: mother’s first tender encounter with love, she barely talks about it. If it were a story that even remotely could be likened to the epic love of Paris and Elena or the tragic one of Aeneas and Dido, believe me, she would have told us about it until we would have been able to sing it like the blind Homer or the wise Virgil. We have that in common, my mother and I, if anything.” 

 

Grantaire was one of the firsts to get ready for dinner and waited for the others in the living room reading a book and trying to distract his mind from the more than well-furnished alcohol cabinet in front of him. 

He had vowed not to drink in front of his nieces a long time ago. He knew how he could become when he drunk and that wasn’t the version of himself he wanted his nieces to remember. At the time it had been an easy promise to maintain: he saw them twice a year when he went to Arles for a couple days for Christmas’ celebrations and then for a week during the summer before Lizi would take her family at Saintes Maries. But he had been with them for almost a month already and the need for a glass of wine was becoming more and more intense every day. He had almost punched his brother when he had discovered Jaques Alexandre had hidden the key to the liquor cabinet at their home. A reaction he deeply regretted, mostly because Jaques had since then started spying on him to make sure he wouldn’t force the lock.

He sighed eliciting a curious look from Marius and Louison who were also waiting with him in the living room, Pontmercy was teaching the young waitress how to play chess and managing to lose to her in the process.   
Grantaire had also seen Combeferre and Feuilly ready, but they had disappeared in the garden on the front of the house. Probably Feuilly was still going on about that Italian revolt and, really, Grantaire was more than happy not to have to listen for the hundredth time about the flaws of the corrupt State of the Catholic Church. Jehan arrived too, with his usual eccentric clothing, and sat down near Grantaire.

“So, tell me about your mother: why don’t you get along?” He asked out of the blue startling his friends.

“I’ve never said we don’t get along,” Grantaire noted closing his book and facing the poet with half a smirk.

“That’s true, but you didn’t even want to come here at first, it was Marie who made you change your mind, so I deduced there must be something rotten in your relationship with your mother. Moreover, after the discovery of your mother’s past early, I have the vague sense your hiding vital information. If we’re going at dinner with her I want to know how to best help you enjoying the evening and to do that I need to know what subjects need to be avoided.” 

“You’re very kind Prouvaire, but there’s nothing to uncover: I never forgave her for having fallen in love with our father, that’s all. It is a pointless and childish sentiment, a point which Marie reminded me of and that’s why I’m here.” 

“If it weren’t for your mother’s love towards your father, you wouldn’t be here, right? You must be grateful for that at least,” said Marius with a small smile almost immediately disrupted by Grantaire’s shrug.

“If anything, it makes it worst: mother could have saved me the struggle of this life without hope and only mortal joys and leave me in the limbo of who must still be born,” he said with an atone voice picking up his book.

“Oh, R, why you have to upset our poor Pontmercy this way?” Jehan reprimanded him flicking his ear with a finger. 

“No, I’m with Grantaire on this one," commented Louison while taking Marius’ queen. "Pontmercy really went after this reaction. I mean, of course, R was going to answer like that.” 

Before anyone could add anything to the conversation, Courfeyrac appeared in the living room, his clothes impeccable as always and on his face an amused smirk.

“Well, my dear Prouvaire, it is time for me to inspect your clothes,” he said triumphally addressing the poet who returned the look with an unimpressed glance. 

“I have no idea of what you’re talking about.” 

“You promised me that if we were going to be invited at R’s house for dinner I would have had the permission to change one item of your clothes. I’m here to make you keep your promise.”

Jehan's eyes grew wider with realization and he blushed. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t remember, we were drunk that night.” 

“You really underestimate how much I disapprove your choices in clothes. Come with me now, I asked for Bahorel’s help on this matter and he’s waiting in my room.” 

Jehan stood with the face of one condemned to the gallows while Courfeyrac beamed with joy. They started towards the bedrooms but before reaching the living room’s door Courfeyrac turned suddenly as if something had just come up his mind.

“R, would you be so kind to go help Enjolras with his cravat? You know he can’t knot one in a decent manner on his life,” he said with nonchalance. Jehan faced him with a betrayed look. 

“I’m sure Pontmercy is best suited for the task,” he said in a hard voice but his friend just smiled at him.

“Pontmercy promised to help me and Bahorel, right dear?” 

Marius stood up suddenly, almost toppling the chessboard and nodded vigorously.

“Yes, absolutely, there’s no way I could help Enjolras at this moment.” He said just too fast to sound not rehearsed. 

Jehan rolled his eyes.

“Then I’m sure Louise can be of some help,” he pressed looking at the young woman with insistence.

“Me? I’ve nerve knotted a cravat in my life,” she commented with half a laugh while recovering one of the chess pieces that had fallen due to Marius’ swift move to action.

“Louise,” Jehan insisted with a meaningful glance towards Grantaire. “We’ve talked about this, remember?” He added through almost clenched teeth. 

Louise looked confused for an instant before lightening with realization. 

“Oh, yes, yes of course. Well, I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I can go help Enjolras instead of R who can sit here and read,” she stammered even less convincingly than Pontmercy which was saying a lot. 

“Actually, Louise, Musichetta is waiting for you in your room to redo your hair. You’re not going anywhere with that head.” 

“Really, Courfeyrac?” Exclaimed Jehan exasperated. 

Grantaire was on the edge of starting laughing like a madman. Truly, his friends were ridiculous, very sweet, but very, very ridiculous. 

“My dearest friends, although your concern on the matter of my feelings is almost moving and most certainly entertaining, I think you may be exaggerating a little the implications of knotting a cravat. Besides, there is nothing you could say that would prevent me to offer my services to our great leader,” he said and smiled at his witty choice of words. 

Jehan rolled his eyes, Louise sighed and Marius blushed while Courfeyrac giggled delightedly.

“This is exactly the spirit I was looking for,” he said joyfully. 

Jehan mumbled something under his breath, Courfeyrac shushed him and dragged him away by his sleeve, Marius behind them.

“And Louise, I wasn’t joking when I said that Chetta is waiting for you, you better go,” Courfeyrac called before disappearing in the hallway. 

Louison looked thoroughly dejected. She turned towards Grantaire as if to say something, but then shook her head and raised her hands defeated and followed the other three.   
Grantaire chuckled, amused by the whole exchange and then went to Enjolras’ room. 

The door was closed and Grantaire could hear the young man muttering under his breath from inside. He knocked and waited for Enjolras’ answer. 

“I’m almost ready, give me one more instant,” he said from the other side of the door.

“Enjolras, I’m R, Courfeyrac said you needed a hand,” he explained still not moving, the last thing he wanted was Enjolras thinking he had offered to help him just to have a chance to saw him half naked which was absolutely not the case. He wasn’t so masochist. Probably. 

Enjolras remained silent for a bit, but then cleared his throat and invited him in.   
And it was then that Grantaire understood to have made a serious mistake.

He had become accustomed in the last years to Enjolras' inability to dress properly.   
He often lacked some part of clothing, could it be his jacket, waistcoat or cravat, or maybe he could be sporting them but with various degrees of indecently open.   
If the first time he had seen the young leader in his god-like glory, without his jacket, his waistcoat open and the sleeves of his shirt loosely rolled up to the elbow, Grantaire had almost a stroke, with time it had almost lost its effect. Almost.   
Anyway, it had become part of Enjolras' character so much that Grantaire couldn't even have imagined him tidily dressed, until that day. 

Enjolras was dressed properly, not only that, he was wearing fancy clothes that highlighted his statuesque figure making him seem like Alexander the Great if the Macedonian king had ever worn modern clothes.   
Grantaire had always had great sympathy for Alexander the Great. Well, more than sympathy really. Marie had called it an obsession but she had always tended to exaggerate things. 

There was just one item that still was in complete disarray: the cravat. It hung loosely around Enjolras' neck, looking almost sad, but that meant that under the collar of the shirt, the hint of his marble shoulder blades was visible. Grantaire felt just a little bit like crying.

“You shouldn’t have come here, R. You have more important things to worry about than my inability to knot a cravat,” Enjolras said frustrated while glancing in the mirror at the offending piece of fabric with pure hatred. Grantaire would have felt sorry for it if he hadn’t been so distracted by the way the dark blue jacket complimented Enjolras’ eyes. 

“I can’t think of anything more important than being here.” He answered automatically and then mentally slapped himself. Don’t be weird, Grantaire, he thought to himself. Enjolras had come all that way to support him he couldn’t repay him by being his usual creepy and inappropriate self. 

“I mean, at the moment, nothing else requires my attention. How’s that Enjolras’ pater familias has never educated his only heir to the fine art of the cravat?” he asked with half a grin, mostly to distract Enjolras from his comment of before but also because he was curious. When he imagined Enjolras’ father he usually envisioned a rich bourgeoise excessively fixated on money and social norms which probably included the proper ways to knot a cravat. 

“Cravats have never been a priority for my father, he used to say fashion is ephemeral but culture is forever. I imagine my mother would have appreciated a little more care to our clothing, that’s probably one of the reasons why she always encouraged my friendship with Courfeyrac,” explained Enjolras with a fond smile and Grantaire couldn’t help but be surprised: of all the sentiments he had imagined Enjolras could feel talking about his parents, fondness had rarely been one of them. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” The young men asked him bemused. He had cocked his head and was watching him from the reflection of the mirror.   
The lights hitting the reflective surface made his face seem even more angelic than usual and Grantaire thought that if Enjolras would have ever fallen in love with his own reflection, like the handsome Narcissus in the myths, no one could have held that against him. And Grantaire would have happily been his Eco, following him adoringly for eternity repeating words he didn’t mean. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras called startling him from his reverie. 

“Yes?” 

“You weren’t answering me,” said Enjolras and he seemed a little bit worried.

“My apologies, I got distracted for a second.” 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have started rambling about my parents like that,” Enjolras said with an apologetic smile.

Grantaire almost laughed at the suggestion: if Enjolras thought that was rambling, what did he thought about Grantaire’s usual vomit of words? 

“Don’t apologize, it was nice. I always wondered what it does feel like to actually like your parents.” 

Enjolras’ expression darkened. 

“Oh, right. Joly mentioned something regarding you and your father’s relationships.”

Grantaire waved a hand in the air. 

“It’s not wise speaking ill of the dead. God forbid, they could come back to haunt us. Now, I thought I came here to put an end to that tragedy around your neck.” 

Enjolras smiled again, giving the room his light back and Grantaire felt the breath catching in his throat. 

“Usually I would have made it work, but I wanted to make a good impression to your family,” he explained while moving away from the mirror to let Grantaire positioning himself in front of him. 

“Why?" Asked Grantaire with a smirk reaching for the two ends of the cravat. "Are you planning on asking for my hand?” 

The moments those words came out of his mouth he knew he had made yet another mistake. He saw the blush spreading from Enjolras cheeks to his neck and the fact that he was less than an arm-length from the young man chest wasn’t really helping.   
That had been a comment born from the force of habit, a habit usually shielded by the excuse of being devastatingly drunk, but he didn’t have that excuse at the moment. And Enjolras knew that. He knew that very well. He was looking at him with a mixture of shame and embarrassment which made Grantaire cringe painfully. 

Grantaire’s first instinct was to leave the cravat and take a couple of steps back and maybe run away from the room, but his unusual sober state made him realized that giving in in that instinct would have probably made everything worse. He needed to diffuse the situation, keep doing what he was doing and behaving like that was a joke he would have made with any other of their friends and it didn’t really mean anything. Which could have been true if Enjolras had been simply just one of his friends. 

“You really shouldn’t care about what that bunch of uptight, bourgeoisies-minded, conservatives idiots thinks,” he said keeping his eyes glued to his own hands and his mind very focused on not touching Enjolras’ skin at all. 

“I wouldn’t care what people think of me, not even if I were actually going to ask for an engagement’s blessing," the addition had been made expressly to let him know that he hadn’t been offended by the previous joke and Grantaire felt like breathing normally again. "But I guessed it would have been important to you so I tried to make an effort and yes, I asked for Bahorel help, so you can make fun of that.” 

But Grantaire had stopped listening. Enjolras had gone all that length because he thought he could make Grantaire feel better. That thought made him almost miss the last passage of the knot, but he caught himself in time, finished and took a step back.   
Traveling there he could understand, it was a decision all their friends had taken together, after all. Taking care of Grantaire’s nieces had been a common decision and his nieces were wonderful so nothing surprising there, but that was a decision Enjolras had taken on his own. A decision which the only goal was pleasing Grantaire, that thought was so heady he felt the need to sit down. 

“I don’t care what they think either,” he said out of breath trying not to look at Enjolras’ face to avoid fainting in front of the young leader. 

Enjolras let out a breathy laugh. 

“Yes, I figured. Even so, I wanted to let you know that I’m here to support you.” 

“Thank you,” he replayed.   
He wanted to add something more to make Enjolras understand how much his support meant to him, how more powerful he felt having that young god by his side, but for once his words were completely failing him. He risked a glance to Enjolras’ face with the hope that if words couldn’t do it at least his eyes could try to pass the message and the other man returned the look sure and steady as always making Grantaire’s blood boil in a weird but still pleasurable way. 

“R, there is something I must confess you,” Enjolras said without averting his eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you need help fasting your boots too,” Grantaire joked. 

He had to, he really felt the need to diffuse the tension that had fallen in the room, because Enjolras was watching him with too much care and too much intensity and his smile, oh his smile, it was something so precious and Grantaire was pretty sure he had never seen him smile like that: sweet and relaxed and just a tiny bit bashful. Grantaire’s mother used to tell a story about those kinds of smile, there was a fairy involved, but at the moment he couldn’t remember how the tale went.   
Enjolras laughed again at those words and shook his head, he took a step towards Grantaire and then frowned. From outside the room’s door, strange sounds were coming, as if someone was having a silent fight two feet from the door. 

The electrical atmosphere broken, both Enjolras and Grantaire reached the door and the former opened it revealing Marius with a hand over Louison’s mouth and the other blocking the young woman’s left arm while her right one was struggling to push the man away. 

“What is happening here?” Asked Enjolras confused.

The other two separated immediately looking rather ashamed and both kept their eyes cast down. 

“The cart you sister has sent for us has arrived. We wanted to know if you were ready to go,” explained Louise not even trying to sound convincing. 

“Oh, yes, sure. I just need to take my coat.” Said Enjolras and he sounded as if he was the one who had been caught behaving like a small child. It was almost funny. 

“It’s in the hall,” Louison informed him. Enjolras thanked her and then started walking in that direction not before sparing another glance towards Grantaire who gave him a smile which he hoped passed the message “don’t worry, we’ll talk later” but probably just resembled an awkward grin. 

“I’ll go… I need, uhm, I mean… my coat is there too,” Marius mumbled and then practically run after Enjolras. 

Grantaire sighed and then gave Louise a disapproving look. 

“I expected that from Marius, being Courfeyrac’s pawn I mean, but I really expected more from you than being Prouviere’s puppet in whatever complicated scheme those two have in mind.” 

“I’m no one’s puppet or pawn, mind you. It just happens that I and Jehan share the same view on this situation.” 

“And would you care to explain to me what this view is?” He asked slowly. He was starting to feel a little annoyed by his friends’ nosiness. 

“We both think you might need some help handling the whole Enjolras and feelings part of your life.” 

Grantaire had to pass a hand over his face to calm down because by then he was truly irritated and the last thing he wanted was lashing out on Louise who just wanted to help him, in an annoying and noisy way for sure, but still, she just wanted to help. 

“I don’t need to be watched after as some kind of idiotic child,” he commented through gritted teeth. To her account, the smile that Louison gave him was very apologetic. 

“I know, dear, I know. Marius and I got caught up in a stupid disagreement and made everything awkward, sorry.” 

“It’s just… I know most of the time I don’t seem like a functioning person, but you behaving like toddlers every time Enjolras and I are involved is not going to help,” he explained frustrated. 

“You’re perfectly right, it won’t happen again, promise," said Louison sincerely sorry. "And let me just tell you that this not about us thinking you’ll end up doing something stupid, but you are, comprehensibly, a little emotionally unstable at the moment and Enjolras is all in his righteous paladin mood and it is a combination that could let certain situations escalate quickly and maybe this is not the right time to let that happen, hence why Jehan and I are keeping an eye on you two. That’s all.” 

Grantaire sighed, beaten. 

“I guess you might be right. I’m not in the mood to add more confusing feelings in this situation.” 

Louise smiled and got on her tip-toes to give him a small kiss on the cheek. 

“Am I forgiven then?” She asked batting her eyelashes emphatically winning a small laugh from Grantaire. 

“Yes, you are. But try to maintain some self-control.” 

“Yes, sorry, that was Marius fault. I was being completely unsuspicious,” explained Louise while taking his arm and leading him to the entrance door. 

“What is his and Courfeyrac’s deal anyway?” Inquired Grantaire curious. 

Louison grunted disapprovingly and rolled her eyes. 

“They have some stupid theory, but you’ll have to ask them because I don’t like to repeat foolishness like that.” 

Grantaire laughed again, this time more freely and more relaxed. 

 

“R, tell me this is not your house,” said Jehan once they descended from the cart. 

“I’m afraid it is, my dear Prouvaire,” he replayed with half a grin. 

He knew his parents’ house was excessive, in every way, his father had no taste at all and had decided to be led only by his desire to show he had made a lot of money while designing the house. It was of the reason why he hated that place so much.   
It had been built to resemble vaguely a Greek temple on the front while keeping the shape of a colonial house in the United States, Grantaire suspected to honor his mother roots, but the proportions were completely blown to exaggerate levels and there was really too much gold and forest green involved. 

“I’ll never offer you anything at the Corinthe,” commented Bahorel still staring at the house in disbelief. 

“If I hadn’t seen you almost being kicked out of the Musain by Louise’s father because of your debts I would say that you are disgustingly rich,” stated Feuilly who couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lion statue with golden teeth that guarded the entrance. 

“This is all my father’s, not mine. He stopped sending me money when he discovered I was studying art if it weren’t for my sister I would have slept in the streets by now,” he explained with a look of disdain to the golden pillars at the side of the main door. 

He couldn’t help but spare a glance to Enjolras worried about what he was thinking of that pointless waste. Which was stupid, he knew that, Enjolras came from a wealthy family too, wealthier than his own if he had understood correctly, but the young leader had done a lot to make up for his luck while Grantaire just say in his own defense that he had thrown away his family money mostly in wine and bets.

And there it was, on Enjolras’ face, a look of vague disgust while he inspected the golden plaster over the windows. 

“I always hated father’s taste,” he said as if it could excuse the awfulness of it all. 

With his surprise Enjolras turned towards him, his disgusted expression had disappeared leaving a sympathetic one in its place. 

“It must have been terrible for you, being an artist and all. I don’t have a great eye for these things but I even I can say that everything is little too much.” 

Grantaire was speechless. Louison hadn’t joked when she had said that Enjolras was in his justice’s paladin mood.

They were greeted at the entrance by a young housemaid, a new one who Grantaire had met for the first time nearly a month before when he arrived with Marie, but housemaids had never been a constant in the Grantaire’s households, his mother had insisted on changing them every three months with the change of the season. 

“Monsieur Grantaire, Monsieur De Sabran is waiting for you in the drawing room.” 

“Thank you, Clara. Is Elizabeth with him?” 

The young maiden halted for a second before starting to walk again.

“Madame is talking with Father Jaques in the living room,” she answered unsurely.

Father Jaques was his older brother, he insisted that everyone both his family and the house’s staff called him like that. Of course, his family had just refuted while the staff, comprehensibly, respected his will. If Lizi and Jaques were talking alone all his bets were on them arguing like cat and dog away from indiscreet eyes. He exchanged a glance with Musichetta who must have had his same thought because she mouthed “don’t worry about it” at him and Grantaire relaxed, it was nice having his friends at his sides. 

Lizi reached them in the hallway before they could even finish taking off their cots. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet all of you, I heard so much from Adrian,” Lizi said coming towards them. She was smiling brightly which was so strange it almost made Grantaire stop in his tracks. 

“What is that on your face?” He asked his sister worried. 

She looked at him confused for a moment before her smile changed in a disapproving frown. 

“I swear, Adrian if you’re referring to my smile I’m going to smother you with my own hands. Now, before my bother could decide to make fun of me some more, let’s join my husband in the drawing room. We can finish our presentation there.” 

The introductions, of course, were taking a lot of time and Grantaire waited for a lull where his sister was waiting to talk to a new person to ask her what had happened in the lowest voice possible.

“Your brother is being an insensitive idiot again: he saw Angelique acting up again and menaced to send her to a convent. Can you believe? Now she has closed herself in her own room and said she won’t come out for dinner.”

“How is it that when he does something stupid he is only my brother?” He asked emphatically offended. Lizi shook her head.

“At least I’m happy you’re still able to joke about it. I was on the break to stab him with his paper knife.”

“That is weirdly specific.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, a murder is the last thing I need these days. I’ve enough on my plate as it is.” She said before returning to talk to Grantaire’s friends at her husband’s side leaving her brother wondering if he had just attended to his sister trying to make a joke. 

Everything seemed to go really well: Jeanne-Philippe and Jehan had found out about their shared interest for the Middle Age and were talking about it animatedly while Louison and Feuilly observed them mildly confused; a little circle had formed around Lizi who was entertaining the others with some embarrassing story about Grantaire’s childhood.   
Marie had joined them too, claiming with dramatic fervor that she was very offended no one had warned her of their hosts’ arrival, but then had immediately joined the conversation and by then she was boasting about her last role in some famous play with Musichetta and Bahorel. 

Grantaire was half-heartedly trying to stop Lizi from telling yet another anecdote when Jaques Alexandre made his entrance in the living room. He stopped to take the scene in and grumbled something under his breath, probably disapproving who knows what and made the cross’ sign before approaching them. He greeted everyone with a short nod of his head and then, without letting Lizi introducing him with anyone, turned towards Grantaire with a severe expression. 

“Mother wants to see you.” 

“Dinner is almost ready, she can talk with him at the table,” noted Lizi in her practical tone.

“She said she needs to talk with him alone and absolutely before dinner starts,” Jaques insisted eliciting an annoyed sigh from their sister. 

“You don’t have to go,” she whispered to Grantaire. 

He smiled with gratitude but shook his head.

“It’s all right. They all seem comfortable enough, they’ll survive without me.” 

“It won’t take long, dinner is almost ready. I’ll bring here the girls so they can play with your friends a little before going to bed. I’ll send someone saving you in a couple of minutes.”

It was almost funny how much Lizi loved their mother while at the same time being all too aware of the fact that being alone with her for more than five minutes was one of the most emotionally tiring experiences in all their lives. Lizi talked of their mother like she was a saint while making sure no one had to spend not even a moment alone with her. Grantaire didn’t complain though.

He thanked her, gave her a small kiss on the cheek, promised to the other he would have been back soon and then headed towards his mother’s rooms. 

He had always felt out of place at his mother’s side, he could find their similarities only in the things he found annoying about himself and despite the fact they shared some interests, any kind of conversation between them always felt awkward and forced. His mother had always followed his father lead without questioning for as long as Grantaire could remember and now without him seemed a flock of sheep without a shepherd. Grantaire found it so sad his conversation with the old woman had become even more strained. 

“Oh dear, finally, I was waiting for you. Come here with me.” She said the moment he entered her rooms shuffling on the velvet sofa on which she was dramatically slouched on. 

She looked more fragile and paler than usual but that might have been the candlelights' fault. Everything inside her room was velvet or satin and everything was in dark colors, she insisted to have the curtains closed all day and night maintaining that she preferred candles’ light anyway, the atmosphere in her rooms was heavy, claustrophobic and vaguely sinister and even her delighted smile at the sight of her son couldn’t chase away the sense of uneasiness the ambient inspired. 

Grantaire reached her on the sofa trying to avoid her copious gown and she immediately caught his hands in hers and smiled excitedly. 

“So, tell me something about these friends of yours. I want to make a good impression at dinner.” 

“Did you make me come here just to ask me this?” He groaned annoyed rising his eyes to the frescoed ceiling. 

“Well, when was I supposed to ask you? You haven’t been around all day,” she protested childishly squeezing his hands to regain his attention. 

“What do you even want to know about them? Is not as if I can tell about all their interests right now, dinner is almost ready and you can ask directly to them at the table. I’m told it’s a great way to start a polite conversation.” 

“Don’t joke with me, young men. I know exactly how to start a polite conversation, Heaven knows, Marcus had brought me to enough formal dinner to have learned a thing or two. Still, I’m excited to meet your friends, you’ve never brought anyone home before.” 

“That’s simply not true, mother. You’ve met Musichetta and Joly,” noted Grantaire trying really hard not to fall in his mother’s guilt traps, she was really good at those. 

“Ah! The only reason why I’ve met Musichetta is that she and Jeanne-Philippe are like bread and butter and Joly has been invited as Musichetta’s friend, not as yours,” she countered bitterly. 

“All right, all right, you’re excited to meet my friends. Still, I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” he conceded closing his eyes to avoid rolling them in front of her. 

“Why don’t you start with where did you meet them. Marie told me they run some kind of charity society.” 

Grantaire smiled despite himself: yes, a charity society, wasn’t that a funny thought? 

“It’s called the friends of the ABC, they teach to read and write to children without the means to attend school,” he explained almost surprised to how natural that lie rolled out of his mouth. 

His mother eyed him curiously reclining more comfortably on the sofa, but still keeping his hands well secured in hers. 

“Isn’t that a fitting name?” She asked with an amused smile. Grantaire wanted to answer that he actually founded it a little cheesy, but in that moment, someone knocked on the door. 

“Come on in,” called his mother straightening up slightly. 

Enjolras appeared at the door and stopped a couple of steps in, probably to adjust at the darkness. 

“Mother, this fine gentleman’s name is Monsieur Enjolras, he’s the chief of the charity society I was talking to you about. Enjolras, this is my lovely mother, Madame Francoise Marianne Grantaire,” said Grantaire when the young men reached them. 

Enjolras smiled politely and bound down to kiss the old woman’s hand elegantly. So, it was true that he could be charming when he wanted. 

“It is a pleasure meeting you, madame. I was hoping you would concede me the honor to escort you to dinner,” Enjolras said in a voice that Grantaire had never heard coming from his mouth, it almost seemed as if he truly wanted with all his soul to escort the old woman to the dining room. 

“Oh, you are a dear really, but it will be for another time. Now I need a couple more instants with my son. Why don’t you go ahead and tell the others we’re coming?” 

Enjolras glanced questioningly at Grantaire who just nodded reassuringly, he could survive alone with his mother for a couple more minutes and he was more than happy to not let the old gorgon wrap her claws around Enjolras.

“Of course, madame. It won’t be a problem at all. We’ll wait for you,” the young man said always with the same polite smile and he left the room after a last encouraging glance towards Grantaire.

He followed him with his eyes until he disappeared out of the door, but before he could comment on his mother behavior she started talking. 

“Do not do this to yourself, my dear,” she pleaded while combing one of her hands through his dark curls. 

“What on Earth are you chattering on now?” He asked fed up with his mother’s blathering for the day. 

“I know that look, my lovely boy, I know it as much as I know men like this Enjolras of yours, they rarely reach their thirties.” 

“You’re sputtering nonsense right now,” insisted Grantaire who was starting to feel his headache coming back, it had been a mistake not insisting for his mother to accept Enjolras’ offer.   
“What are you denying? You’re attraction to that young gentleman? Or the fact that he is a Republican? Maybe both? You forget I have double your experience in this world and that I was born in 1779, I’ve seen more people falling in love and more revolutionaries that you can even imagine.” 

“Are you saying that you recognized the fire of Republicanism in his eyes? You aren’t making any sense. You’re always blathering about these things without any logic.” Exclaimed Grantaire raising up un turning towards her frustrated. 

His mother laughed and it was a bitter laugh so different from her usually sweets ones and, Grantaire realized in that moment, more real. 

“I didn’t need to see him to know it. The society of the friends of the ABC, please. Your grandmother used to invent names like that for her friends' political club.” 

Grantaire gave her a skeptical look. 

“Well, maybe she didn’t invent them, but they all had names like that and your Enjolras, ah, didn’t I met some men like him? They’re not lovers’ material, my dear. One foot in the past the other on the horizon, ready to die to change everything.” 

“And then leaving everything like before,” murmured Grantaire sitting down again beside her and glancing furtively at the door from which Enjolras had exited. 

His mother seemed to deflate a little and her expression turned sweet again.

“Don’t say like that, my dear. You think your grandparents died for nothing? Your grandad fought for the Independence of his country and they won and your grandmother denounced the years of Terror to save the soul of the Revolution. They didn’t die leaving everything like before.” 

“They left two nations founded on blood, injustice and lies and an orphan,” he countered.

He felt bad talking like that to his mother, she didn’t talk about her parents very often and even more rarely she talked about how they died. He knew she was surely making a painful effort to tell him all those things, but at the same time, he didn’t want his own mother justifying the extreme sacrifice that all his friends seemed so willing to make. He didn’t want to think about that in that moment, he didn’t want to think about that ever. 

She stayed silent after his words and then moved nearer him to take his hands in hers again. 

“You truly are my son, I was just like you at your age. The world can seem such an ugly place, so uninspiring, with so little that’s worth living for, it is easier to just hate it than believing that anything good can come out of it.”   
Grantaire closed his eyes. He felt his headache coming back and there were tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. 

“How did you started believing again? How could you even? After all that you have lost to those ideals and beliefs.” 

His mother raised one hand slowly and caressed one of her son’s cheek, prompting him to open his eyes. She was watching him, a mixture of affection and concern on her face. It was such a sincere and soft expression, Grantaire doubted he had ever seen his mother so unguarded and open. 

“Some people are not made to believe in ideals," she simply said and kissed him of the forehead. "Now I think we should get going, your sister is probably thinking that I’ve tried to eat you or something like that. I got the strange impression that she doesn’t trust my judgment anymore.” 

And like that, the moment of sincerity was gone and his mother was back to rattle on nonsense, but her words had left their impression on Grantaire. They had just been the product of an old, almost crazy woman who spent her days lost in her past. He told himself offering his arm to her so they could finally start walking towards the dining room. Nonetheless, they had filled him with a sense of uneasiness more than any other foolish jabber of his mother. 

“And don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t tell anyone about your interest to that very polite young man. I know how your sisters can get when the matter of your affections is involved,” she went on waving her hand in the air as if to make some kind of point.   
Grantaire sighed. 

Yes, she truly was just an old blathering woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Always me, I want to thank you for the kudos and the comments and for reading this! As always if you liked it let me know.
> 
> Come to say hi on my tumblr [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)
> 
> See you at the next chapter!


	5. Both Grantaire and his mother tell a story which elicits some reflections on the subject of love

The dinner was going pretty well, surprisingly well actually. 

Angelique had decided to show up, she was still sulking, looking in silence at her plate, sighing dramatically every three or four minutes, but Grantaire had seen her stifling a laugh at some of Courfeyrac’s antics.  
Jaques Alexander had tried to start some kind of provocative discussion on religion five minutes into the dinner but he had been neutralized by Combeferre who had engaged in the conversation and they were still discussing well after the second course, even if Grantaire wasn’t quite sure they were still talking about religion. Marie was making Louison blush at the other side of the table while Jeanne Philippe was deep in conversation on some new novel with Jehan and Bahorel. 

For the first time since they had arrived at Saintes Maries, Lizi seemed almost relaxed: she was eating her food with gusto while listening to their mother rambling on a party she attended years ago in which very weird dishes had been served. Musichetta and Marius were humoring her asking question after question on the details of the food which the old woman exaggerated more and more in very Grantaire’s family style.  
The children in bed, her siblings distracted and her mother occupied, Lizi could really take a break from the confusion of the past weeks. He was happy for her, she deserved it. 

Grantaire risked a glance towards Enjolras, at the other side of the table, between Louison and Joly. The latter was telling the young leader about his doubts on the bleeding system to cure most of the illness in their times, Enjolras on his part seemed genuinely interested but his eyes wondered anyway along the dinner table until he met Grantaire’s. 

And there it was, like earlier that evening, that strange smile which reminded Grantaire of his mother’s childish stories, fairies and the few moments of warmth his family had been able to give him growing up. He still couldn’t understand what it meant and he thought he really needed to ask his mother about that fairy tale or it risked to bug him for the next week. 

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but your family is really sweet,” commented Feuilly making him nearly jump on his seat. 

“Well, you’re observing them in a really controlled environment, but yes, they can be quite enjoyable sometimes,” he conceded grinning at his friend. 

“I don’t want to make any unwanted comments and I know I should be the last one to give opinions on families, but you could be in more luck than you let us believe,” Feuilly went on with a grin of his own which was less sarcastic and more amused than Grantaire’s. 

Grantaire shook his head. 

“A lot of things changed since our father died and all of us changed very fast after we heard of our mother’s health.” 

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I brought this up and I probably should stop talking right now, it’s just… I think I envy your mother.” 

Grantaire gave him a curious look. Feuilly was often a really sincere person, always speaking his mind and never afraid of what people’s reaction might be. That had often led the working man to some fistfights, usually helped by Bahorel. It had also led to some arguments with his friends, but those occasions had become more and more rare over the years in which everyone had learned not to get offended by Feuilly’s bluntness.  
Unlike the others, Grantaire had always appreciated the easiness with which Feuilly would speak the truth and in some of their more drunken adventures he had been the one to push him to tell something of really inappropriate in the face of some other very drunk man. 

The situation at that moment couldn’t be more different. 

“Of my mother? Why?” Grantaire inquired stealing a glance towards the old woman who was then laughing at something Bossuet had just said. 

“You know, everyone has to die at some point. And maybe your mother didn’t have the best of lives or maybe yes, but at least she gets to die surrounded by the people she loves, not everyone gets to be so lucky.”  
There must have been something in the air soliciting all those thoughts about death, thought Grantaire after giving Feuilly a small smile. Probably it was the fact that they were all there for his mother’s imminent last breath. 

Grantaire wouldn’t have been able to say if his mother had had a good life. Lizi used to say she had a hard one, but he had grown up only knowing the wife of the rich factory owner, living amidst luxuries and spoiled by his husband while Lizi had the opportunity to know, even if for only a really brief period, the woman who had to escape two countries, lose almost all of her family and grow two children on her own. That part of his mother's life had always seemed a fairy tale to him, something someone else would tell him, full of figures that have never existed at the same time as him and with a protagonist who was completely different from the woman she knew. His mother had not helped: she would rarely talk about her life before meeting her second husband, moments like the one they had had before dinner, where his mother would actually talk about her past and her family, had been so scarce during his childhood he could count them on one hand. When he was younger, he had despised his mother for that attempt to erase her own past, a past that to his young eyes seemed so much shining and happy than the one she had with his father, but growing up he had started to understand his mother desire to forget. 

He was distracted from his reflections by the scraping of Angelique’s chair on the floor. She had stood up and was looking at her mother with a defiant look.

“Mother, I have an announcement to make,” she said firmly, even if her hands were slightly trembling at her side. 

“Angelique, go back to eat,” Jaques admonished her coldly, but the girl ignored him.

“There is something I’ve wanted to tell you for some time now, but Jaques and Lizi forbade me to, they say it’ll be bad for your health but I’m sure it will bring you so much joy, mother.” 

Lizi opened her mouth to speak, but their mother raised a hand to block her. She had a curious look on her face and she was studying her younger daughter as if to guess what she was about to say. The table had fallen silent: all of Grantaire’s friends had become suddenly very invested in the content of their plates, Marie was throwing daggers at her little sister with her eyes and Grantaire felt obliged to intervene. 

“Lili now isn’t really the moment,” he said but a lot less convinced that his brother, he knew that Angelique wasn’t going to back down and their mother was too much interested, by then to let it go. 

“Yes, now is the right moment. It is a happy announcement and I have the right to celebrate it, as every other person does with a dinner and wine and friends.” 

Their mother’s eyes glinted at those words.

“Lili, are you going to tell me that you got engaged?” She asked slowly. 

“Yes, mother. He’s the nicest young man I could ever hope to meet. I love him and I’m intentioned to marry him before next year,” she answered and her face was glowing with joy and relief. 

“Angelique, we’ve already talked about this. You’re too young,” Lizi gritted between her teeth as if she was still trying not to create an awkward situation at the table. Judging by the others’ faces the damage had already be done, unfortunately. 

“Mother married at my age!” Their sister exclaimed pointing at the woman. 

“I was one year older, actually,” their mother corrected cleaning her mouth with a napkin as if she talking about the last sleeves’ fashion she has seen at one of her friend’s evening tea. It drove Grantaire mad watching her so calm while Lizi was losing her mind trying to compensate her inability to be a responsible mother. 

“Well, I can wait a year. Yes, I can wait just one year, but mother, you always say how your first husband was the light of your life, your best friend. This is how I feel for my fiancé now and I’m asking your blessing for our union,” she had reached their mother seat while talking and she had kneeled at her side to take one of their mother hands into hers. It could have been a really lovely image if Grantaire hadn’t been so angry with both of them. 

Their mother sighed and kissed her daughter's hand.

“Oh, my sweet child, you know nothing about me and Charles, but I guess I only have myself to blame,” she said bitterly and Angelique’s hopeful smiled disappeared from her face. 

“Maybe I should escort our guests to the living room,” proposed Jean-Philippe rising up, but their mother waved a hand in the air as to chase away the suggestion. 

“There is no need. This is a very edifying story, I think everyone will learn something from it.” 

Philippe sat back down with an apologetic smile towards his wife and the room fell silent again, but that time all the eyes were on the woman at the head of the table. Even Grantaire’s friends couldn’t conceal their curiosity. 

“Is it true what you said about Charles: he was my best friend. He was the first person of my age I met when I first arrived in America. He was a kind young man, he didn’t smile often but when he did, he could light up an entire room. We grew up together between my godfather and his father’s politics and it was a surprise to no one when he asked my hand in marriage,” she told them with her eyes almost closed and a dreamy expression. Nothing of that was new information, Grantaire had heard hundredth and hundredth of times the description of his mother’s first husband: it was the only part of her past she didn’t try to erase with all her might, in every tale he was always sweet and kind, with bright smiles and glinting eyes, he seemed more a prince in a fairy tale than a real human being. 

“See mother, " Angelique interrupted in an ardent voice. "This is who Victor is to me. Since father died, he has always been by my side, I can’t imagine living without him.” 

Her mother smiled sweetly at her and caressed her face. 

“You remind so much of me at your age, so stubborn, so convinced. Your siblings here remind me of my godfather instead, he did not approve, at all," she gave a quavering laugh at that but went on talking immediately. "He and his wife fought for weeks over the subject and my aunts and uncles, uh, what a nightmare. Your grandfather’s family stopped talking to me after the announcement of the engagement and they didn’t show up at the wedding. So, don’t try to tell me how people should respond in cases like this, my dear, your siblings are being more than civil.”

“But you married him!" Protested Angelique with passion. "Your love prevailed and you got to be happy.”

“Lili, this is enough," stated Lizi in a steely voice. "Mother, you’re getting tired, let us bring you back to your rooms.” 

Lizi was right, their mother had gotten more and more pale while talking and her breath had become heavy and fast as if she had just finished a run. 

“I’m fine, Lizi, thank you and I think Lili needs to listen to the end of the story. Unless you don’t think your aunt Elizabeth could be a better narrator,” their mother bit back maliciously. Lizi froze at those words and guiltily lowered her gaze. 

Grantaire was truly confused: not only everyone already knew the end of the story, their mother first husband had died of fever, a few months after Lizi was born which had prompted their mother to go back to France some years later, but he was also pretty sure their aunt Elizabeth had cut every relationship with their family after their mother second marriage. He turned towards Jean-Philip with a demanding expression but he just shook his head and mouthed “ask your sister”. In the meanwhile, their mother had gone on talking. 

“Yes, we married in the end. We were so young and naïve, we convinced ourselves that what we were feeling was love, but it was something else altogether: we had decided we were each other’s source of everything we lacked. I looked at him like a blind man look at a flame. He put me on a pedestal so high, falling from it had been too easy and when I fell, well, let’s say we both saw who the other really was. I left Charles the same night he dared raise a hand on me, while I was pregnant with Lizi, and I damned the day my godparents blessed our union.” 

Silenced fell again in the dining room. Grantaire could recognize his friends by their breath without looking at them: Joly’s fast and short, Combeferre’s long and deep, Louison’s almost imperceptible and Enjolras’ even and controlled. 

“For us is different,” uttered Angelique breaking the silence. 

“You just told me you feel the same things as I did,” replied her mother. 

“Because you always told us you and Jaques and Lizi’s father loved each other!” Protested the young girl springing up and regarding her mother in disbelief with tears in her eyes.

“As I already said, I recognized this is my fault. I did not want to subject the all of you to more sadness that was necessary.” 

“I thought you could understand me,” mumbled Angelique and she sounded truly wounded. 

“And I do. I know what your feeling right now: you think the way he looks at you like you could hang up the stars in the sky, is love, but it’s not, it’s veneration and there is nothing more poisonous in a relationship.” 

“You know nothing!” The girl exclaimed and stormed out of the room knocking her chair down in her impetus. Their mother hid her face in her hands. Grantaire could hear her shallow breaths even from three seats of distance. 

“Mother, let me bring you back to your rooms,” offered Jaques in a gentle tone and the woman just nodded. She could barely remain upright on her feet and Jean-Philippe immediately stood up to help his brother-in-law. 

“Adrian, why don’t we bring your friends in the living room and offer them something to recover from the emotions of the dinner?” Proposed Marie also standing up and Grantaire nodded eagerly pointing his friends, still in respectful or maybe embarrassed, silence towards the door. 

He didn’t immediately follow them, though, he waited for his sister Lizi in the bad-lit hallway. 

She leaned against the wall, her head tipped backward and took a deep breath. Grantaire mirrored her position on the other wall and waited for her to recompose herself before speaking. It was a strange situation, the two of them there one in front of the other, waiting to comment on the craziness of their family. It was strange because, in the past, Grantaire’s place would have been filled by Jaques Alexandre: when they had been younger it was Lizi and Jaques’ job to take care of their siblings, but, in the last years, Jaques had become more and more distant and lost in his religion and had left a vacant place at Lizi’s side. Grantaire had surprisingly found himself to feel that empty space.

“Did you know about that?” He asked her once he was sure she was ready to have that conversation. 

“I did," she confessed and she sounded pained to reveal that. "Aunt Elizabeth told me, as mother cared to stress.” 

“I thought aunt Elizabeth stopped talking to us after mother’s marriage.” 

“So mother like to say, she actually vowed not to talk to her, but she started to visit me in Arles after my marriage, she asks often of you and the others.” 

Grantaire sighed. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“About my father or about our aunt?” 

“Both.” 

“Didn’t think you cared about an aunt you’ve never seen and in regards to my father I have to say that I share mother’s point of you: I didn’t want to add useless sadness to the history of our family.” 

Grantaire understood but still, he felt betrayed by her sister silence somehow which was completely hypocritical: how many secrets did he keep from her? Too many to count. 

“It is true then? Charles used to beat mother?” He asked and the worlds sounded so strange on his tongue. He had grown up listening to the idyllic stories of his mother first marriage where Charles appeared almost like an angel. The idea that he could have ever done something like that seemed impossible. 

“Aunt Elizabeth said that mother confessed it happened just once, but she doesn’t believe her. Anyway, mother left him when she was still pregnant with me and he died a little more than a year after so there is hope he didn’t get enough time to try it more than once.” 

“And when did mother leave for France?” 

Lizi regarded him with a surprised expression, she had not expected that question. 

“Soon after their separation. Why are you asking?” 

“Just wanted to have all the facts straight,” he lied smoothly. 

“You should go back to your friends now, I’ll go check on Angelique. I’ll really have to restrain me not to remind her that I had advised her not to tell mother, but she was stubborn as a goat.”

“Mother was right when she told that Lili’s like her,” commented Grantaire.

Lizi gave him half a smile, the tiredness had come back on her face, she seemed older than her age. 

“I always thought that you were the one who had taken most from mother,” she said before turning her back on him and start walking towards their sister’s rooms. 

In the living room, Marie was apologizing for her little sister behavior and offering everyone something to drink. 

“And I’m really sorry for our mother too, she can become a little dramatic and tends to overshare sometimes,” she added while pouring some cognac for Combeferre. 

“She reminds me of someone,” the medical student said with a smirk glancing in Grantaire direction. The artist smiled and gave him an exaggerated bow before letting himself fall down on the sofa between Musichetta and Bahorel. 

“I actually enjoyed your mother’s story, it was delicately touching,” commented Jehan within his eyes the same glint he reserved for poetry and thunderstorms. 

“A rather interesting reflection on the concept of love, I may add,” said Bossuet in a pensive voice. 

“It was a surprise for almost everyone at the table tough, Francoise always talked about her first husband with such kind words,” said Musichetta while resting her head on Grantaire’s shoulder. 

“Yes, from how she usually talked about him you would think she’s still venerating him,” he observed. 

“Knowing mother, it could be a possibility, she likes to retell stories in her favor,” replied Marie pouring one last glass for herself and settling comfortably on her armchair. 

Yes, another thing he and his mother had in common. Lizi’s words from before came back to him and he started thinking about the traits he and his mother shared. He never really spared much thought about them, he wished to find no similarities with his parents, but it was starting to become difficult to deny some similarities between him and the old woman. 

Before he could even realize it, his eyes fell upon Enjolras, squeezed between Courfeyrac and Feuilly on the smaller sofa. His mother had talked about veneration and putting someone on a pedestal and, at that moment, he had been too worried about Angelique’s reaction and his poor friends forced to assist to such a scene to reflect upon them, but the words were coming back at him then and he realized how much they could have also been describing his feelings for their passionate leader.  
Had he fooled himself all that time? He had cursed himself for being in love with such a man, but maybe love wasn’t what he was feeling after all, but how to explain the tugging at his chest every time the man entered the room? Could merely admiration provoke that? He swiftly turned his gaze away from Enjolras and he crossed Marie’s eyes which were observing him with a mischievous light. She smiled at him languidly and reclined more deeply in the velvet armchair, then she slowly turned towards the smaller sofa. Grantaire had to muffle a curse. 

“Love is a privilege anyway, true love I mean. Few of us are destined to encounter it in our lives and even fewer have the possibility to enjoy it,” she said in a blasé tone sipping from her glass but her brother noticed her eyes glued to Enjolras. He didn’t know what she had in mind, but it couldn’t be anything good. 

“To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life,” declared Pontmercy with sentiment just to blush and stutter an apology one second later. Everybody applauded him though, even Enjolras seemed to appreciate the little poetic experiment of their resident Napoleonist. 

“Pay attention, Jehan, our Marius is going to steal your place as the poet of the society at this rate,” Louison commented, but she was laughing good-naturedly and Jehan was too excited at the thought that Pontmercy could have intended to start a career as a poet to even pretend to be worried. 

“I agree with you, Monsieur Pontmercy, I would ask nothing more than to be able to feel love, but as I said, it is a rare occurrence and I fear that in my family there had been already enough lucky people. Don’t you think, Adrian?” Went on Marie sipping absently from her glass, as if the argument didn’t actually interest her. 

“I don’t think that there could be a luckier creature on Earth that Lizi in this regard, she and Philippe are a match made in Heaven,” Grantaire answered wirily trying to test his sister intentions. 

“Lizi and Philippe are the proof that true love exists,” commented Musichetta assertive. 

“Exactly," drawled Marie with a sweet smile. "And Jaques founded the eternal love of Our Lord which, I guess, we can count as fortunate. I really don’t want to express my opinion on Angelique’s fiancé, but I believe will be able to forget about him in a couple months. A little bird, though, told me that Adrian was exchanging letters with his sweetheart these days, can we count you between the lucky ones in our family?” 

A passer-by wouldn’t have noticed anything different in the room, but Grantaire could have listed the imperceptible changes in the posture of his friends at Marie’s words. He shrugged non-committedly, slumping even more on the soft sofa against Musichetta’s side. 

“You know, my dear sister, I lost the count of the young grisettes writing me with the hope to receive my attention,” he explained with a large smirk eliciting numerous laughs from the others. 

“Oh yes, all the brothels in Paris have closed in mourning when they discovered you were going to be out of town for more than a month,” jested Bahorel with a friendly smack on Grantaire’s knee. 

“Why you have to be so lewd, there are children in the house,” protested Feuilly slapping his friend on the arm.

“And there are ladies in the room,” stressed Marius nervously. 

“I share quarters with Chetta and I can assure you, she has no problem with this kind of talk,” replied Joly joyful lying his arm across his mistress’ shoulders. 

“And Louison works in a café, she probably hears far worse every day,” added Courfeyrac gaining an annoyed look from the young waitress. 

“And I’m an actress. Believe me, there is no group of people as bad-mouthed as actors,” concluded Marie with an earthy laugh and Grantaire drew a sigh of relief, the game had been abandoned for the moment, Marie being more interested in jokes about theatre’s workers and the anecdotes from Louison’s work at the café than her brother’s sentimental life. 

Grantaire gave himself the authorization to relax against Musichetta’s side trying to concentrate on the cheerful voices of his friends instead of the weariness he felt in his bones. 

“At the end of this debacle you really ought to gift your sister a trip to the baths, she looks terrible,” murmured Chetta in his ear. He spared a glance towards Marie who was laughing wholeheartedly at one of Bossuet’s almost too lewd jocks: her blond curls were a little ruffled and there were dark circles under her green eyes, but nothing more than every other member of the family was going through those days. 

“Marie’s tough, she’ll be fine,” he whispered back moving his stare back where it had been glued to another set of blonde curls. 

“I’m not talking about Marie,” Musichetta replied and with a subtle movement of her shoulders, she directed his gaze towards the living room’s door where Lizi was resting against the frame, one hand around a steaming cup and the other massaging her temples. 

“We’re driving her mad,” he commented under his breath gaining an elbow in his ribcage from the young grisette. 

“Not all of you. You’re being more than helpful. She keeps saying that.”  
Grantaire had a long list of arguments against that statement, but he didn’t want to open a discussion on that matter at the moment, so he settled for a small smile and decided to change the subject. 

“This kind of stress can’t be good for the baby,” he said referring to the swollen belly of his older sister. 

“Yes, Philippe’s worried too, but you know your sister, she has to handle everything by herself or she’s just going to stress more.” 

In the meantime, Lizi had approached them and had been greeted with questions about her mother and Angelique’s well-being. 

“They’re both well: mother’s sleeping and Angelique is more than fine, I had a lovely chat with her and we reached an accord so, overall, it was an evening of small victories. Don’t mind me though, I’ll just stay here sipping my tea and bother our Adrian.”  
That elicited a general laugh, but Grantaire straightened up immediately when Lizi circled the sofa to hover on his left shoulder. 

“Eliane can’t sleep,” she whispered with such weariness that Grantaire felt the need to take her in his arms and take her immediately to sleep. 

“I can tell her a story if you want,” he offered. 

“I was hoping you would say that I said to her that I was going to ask you if you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to, not many people want to hear me rant for half an hour of their own volition.” 

Lizi didn’t smile, but Grantaire didn’t take offense, probably she hadn’t understood it was a self-deprecating joke. Lizi was like that. 

“She’s making another request, though, and I really don’t know how to tackle this one,” she went on, ignoring his brother previous comment. 

“What is that?” 

“She wants uncle Enjolras to listen to the story with her.” 

Bahorel’s sudden attack of cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh, theory confirmed by the knowing smile appeared on Musichetta’s face. 

“I guess… we could… uhm… ask him,” Grantaire stuttered while trying very hard not to blush.

“I’m sure Enjolras would love to,” commented Bahorel completely giving up the attempt to hiding his eavesdropping. 

“Enjolras would love to do what?” Asked Joly who had, of course, heard Bahorel’s comment being the latter unable to whisper.

“Eliane wants Enjolras to hear one of Grantaire’s stories with her,” Musichetta explained without even trying to hide her contentment. 

“This was meant to be a private conversation,” grumbled Grantaire between his teeth. 

“I have the feeling I’m missing something here,” said Lizi looking curiously between the four friends. 

“She doesn’t know?” Asked Bahorel incredulous. 

“Who doesn’t know what?” Queried Bossuet from the chair beside him. 

At this point more than half of the presents were paying attention at the exchange and Grantaire was praying Mother Earth to just swallow him. 

“The Thing, Elizabeth doesn’t know the Thing,” specified Musichetta and Grantaire hated the fact that he could feel the capital letter in her voice. Someone laughed, Marius looked utterly confused and Louison and Jehan exchanged a worried look.

“What is the thing?” Asked Enjolras. 

“Oh, nothing," answered Joly before the silence that had fallen in the room could become too awkward. "Elizabeth was just confused about some part of mine, Chetta and Bossuet’s arrangement. Right?” 

Lizi nodded slowly: “Yes, yes, sorry to interrupt. You know, I’m an old-fashioned woman, I get confused easily,” she said with a pretty convincing smile but her eyes were glued on Grantaire. 

“Well, enough talks about that," said Courfeyrac waving a hand in the air dismissing. "I was in the middle of a very charming story and I would like to have all the eyes back on me, thank you.” 

The attention turned back to Courfeyrac easily, even if Grantaire could hear Marius asking to a very exasperated Combeferre what was the arrangement Joly had just mentioned, he would have laughed at Pontmercy’s usual obliviousness, but Marie and Lizi were exchanging a very meaningful look just above his head and he had to find a way out of that conversation very quickly. 

“I’m going to ask Enjolras then,” he said standing up suddenly and moved towards the other sofa without waiting for his sister’s answer. 

He tried to walk the more casually possible, but he could still feel the eyes of his friends on him. He wanted to be mad at them for being so obvious not only in front of his whole family but even in front of Enjolras. He had to admit though that usually he was the first at being so obvious and it had been probably due to divine intervention that Enjolras was still oblivious of the whole Thing. 

Unfortunately, his sisters had years of experience in understanding the matters of his heart without having to ask. And wasn’t that funny? When they were younger, they couldn’t talk about his love life, lest his father hearing something, even if he died every day to confide his love’s labors to his sisters and now, they couldn’t talk about it because Grantaire had become a skeptic drunkard, who was holed in Paris to avoid his responsibilities and who was becoming every day more detached from his own family.  
Funny the passage of time. 

He arrived in front of Enjolras. He had to take a moment to take in Enjolras’ beauty and light. He noticed he had loosened his cravat and he hid a laugh.

“R, is everything all right?” The young leader asked him, a look verging on worried appearing on his face. 

The question attracted Combeferre’s attention who fixed on Grantaire an intelligible look which, even if not menacing at all, still made Grantaire even more nervous. 

“No, nothing to worry about, just… Eliane, she’s still in that phase where she doesn’t want to go to sleep, you know how babies are.”

“I really don’t,” he interrupted with an amused smile. Grantaire mentally slapped himself. 

“Ah, yes, right. Sorry. Uhm, well, Eliane asked me to tell her a story, usually this does the trick, but because she knows that today is a special occasion with you all being here and everything and I mean, it is probably a little bit your fault with you giving her all that attention, but anyway, apparently, her uncle’s story isn’t enough anymore, well, yes, she wants her story but evidently she also wants someone else to keep her company. And I’m telling this as if I’m annoyed by it which I’m really not.”

“R, you’re rambling,” noted Enjolras and he seemed really worried like he thought Grantaire had definitely lost his mind in front of him. Grantaire took a calming breath which wasn’t easy at all with Combeferre still looking at him with that weird expression. 

“Eliane isn’t sleeping and she asked for you to take her company while she listens to one of my stories,” he explained almost without breathing and then added quickly: “You don’t have to say yes.” 

The look Enjolras gave him was of total confusion and then he smiled. It happened very slowly and it was as if watching the sun rising between the roofs of Paris on a summer day, Grantaire wanted desperately to be able to see that smile every day of his life. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he said and Grantaire was smiling back at him happy and excited and nervous and a lot of other things he couldn’t really understand at that moment.  
Enjolras rose and started following Grantaire without saying a word. While they passed beside Bossuet, their bald friend sighed dramatically.

“Look at Enjolras, going to steal my place as the third favorite uncle!” He exclaimed covering his heart with one hand.

“I really doubt it could ever happen, my friend. You set a high standard to reach,” Enjolras replied squeezing his friend’s shoulder with one hand. “I’m just the enthusiasm for the new.” 

“And isn’t that a befitting expression to describe you?” Asked Bossuet eliciting a laugh from all the presents that followed Enjolras and Grantaire well outside the living room. 

Eliane’s room was on the ground floor between Lizi and Philippe’s room and Antoinette’s. When they arrived, Philippe was inside trying to convince his daughter to remain in bed. 

“Look who’s here!" He exclaimed pointing at the two men waiting at the door. "Remember what you promised mum?”  
The young child beamed with joy and with a last jump on the small bed gave a kiss to her father’s cheek and then disappeared under the soft blankets.

“Difficult day?” Grantaire asked his brother-in-law when he reached them, he seemed on the verge of falling asleep on the spot. 

“Just too much excitement, I told Lizi that send them to spend the day with you in town was going to become a regrettable decision. She spent the last twenty minutes trying to decide who of her new uncles she wanted here to listen to your story. Apparently, monsieur Enjolras won.” 

“Just Enjolras, please.” 

“Oh yes, Lizi told me you prefer to be called with your families’ name.” 

“Talking of Lizi, can you please convince her to go take some rest? She’s been awake since six in the morning today,” pleaded Grantaire. 

“You think I haven’t already tried? She won’t go to bed until we still have guests in the house. She could go into labor in this moment and she would still refuse to reach the bed until every last guest is out of the house,” he replied exasperated. 

“Then just ask our friend to go home," intervened Enjolras kindly but firm. "We’ve already imposed ourselves more than enough and we had the best of our times, but you are all already very tired for everything you’re going through and we want to wake up early to go to the beach tomorrow anyway. No one will take offense.” 

“And how do you think you’re going back home if they use the cart while you stay here?” Asked Grantaire. 

“I’ll walk.” 

Grantaire started to answer with the intention of making him understand how stupid of an answer that was, but Philippe beat him. 

“There’s no need. The cart can make two trips. You’ll probably have to wait a while when you are over with Eliane, but I’m sure Adrian won’t have anything against entertaining you for a bit.”

“Of course not, trying to entertain Enjolras is one of my favorite pastimes,” Grantaire answered with a cheeky grin eliciting the first disapproving look of the week from Enjolras, but the mirth in the young leader’s eyes took away the stinging that usually accompanied that. 

“Well, thanks then. I’m going to retrieve my wife now. And I’ll say to your friends goodnight for you,” Philippe announced and nearly run down the hallway. 

“He’s not bad for being a noble,” commented Enjolras and Grantaire couldn’t stop but laugh while they neared Eliane’s little bed. 

“Hi, my dearest, your mother told me you’re having some troubles sleeping, is that true?” Grantaire asked his niece after kneeling beside her bed. The young child nodded slowly, her big brown eyes were the only thing visible under the white covers but her uncle could sense a smile hidden under there. So, no nightmares and no monsters under the bed, just some remaining excitement from the day that had just passed. 

“Well, well, I heard you requested a story and a friend to hear it with you. I brought you the friend and I’m more than happy to tell you a story, just say which one.” 

Eliane was beaming with pure joy. One little hand ventured outside the covers and grabbed Enjolras’ little finger guiding him to sit beside her on the bed, she kept the man’s hand well secured between her smaller ones and settled more comfortably in the pillow before making her request. 

“The story of the princess who can see the future.” 

Grantaire frowned. 

“Are you sure, Nani? That’s a sad one,” he asked surprised by his niece’s request, usually, she opted for more happy and lighter ones. 

“Whose story is it?” Enjolras asked, made curious by Grantaire’s reaction. The young leader was watching the baby with a soft and at the same time surprised expression as if he could not believe to find himself in such a situation, but not regretting it even in the slightest. It made Grantaire’s heart bit a little faster in his ribcage. 

“Is the myth of Cassandra of Troy, but it is weird she would ask this, usually it is one of Sylvie’s request.” 

“I like it too!” Protested Eliane vehemently and Grantaire raised his hands in defeat. 

“All right, my dear, as you wish,” he said and brought the toilette’s stool nearer the bed so to be sat in front of his niece. Then he started the story. 

“A long, long time ago, when the gods still walked the Earth, lived a princess. She was said to be the most curious creature on all her land, she would read everything on every subject and when she was not satisfied, she would go find answers for herself in the streets of her city, she wanted to learn from the most complicated philosophical problem to the most inappropriate joke, from the most elegant dance to the most violent way to fight, her thirst for knowledge had no end. Her name was Cassandra.” 

“Have you ever heard this story, uncle Enjolras?” Eliane interrupted suddenly.

Enjolras smiled kindly at her and nodded.

“I’ve read about it, a long time ago, but I’m sure it is nothing compared to your uncle’s version,” he said and his eyes moved to Grantaire, full of happiness and anticipation. 

Grantaire had to cough a little before being able to find his voice again. 

“The princess lived in the most beautiful city the ancient time had ever seen: its name was Troy and it had been built both by men and by gods and his king was the richest and powerful of those lands and Cassandra was his only daughter. At those times, in the lands of Troy, the god Apollo was traveling disguised as a poor wanderer. One night while he was drinking wine under the stars with some shepherds, he heard about princess Cassandra's curiosity and he fell in love with her immediately.”

“No, uncle Adrian, you’re telling it wrong,” protested Eliane raising her little head from the pillow with an annoyed expression. 

“Am I now?” He inquired with just a hint of irony in his tone to the benefit of Enjolras who was observing the exchange with mirth in his eyes. 

“Yes, you are. You have to say more things about Apollo or we won’t know why they fall in love.”

She was right. He usually would spend decidedly more time describing the god of prophecy, but he had hoped to be able to gloss over that part that night. 

“You’ve heard this story one-hundredth time, Nani. You know everything you need to know about Apollo,” he countered.

“Please uncle Adrian, please. This is my favorite part,” Eliane pleaded.

“Yes, uncle Adrian, please. I’ve never heard this story,” added Enjolras mimicking Eliane’s voice. Grantaire knew he was doing that to make him laugh, that he was joking and having a good time, but still, Grantaire couldn’t have been able to say no to him in any circumstance ever. He sighed dramatically to hide the true discomfort he was feeling and started describing the god Apollo.

“Apollo was the most beautiful god on the Mount Olympus, he had curls blond as the sun’s rays and eyes as blue as the summer sky, his skin would glow of the most radiant light and his smiles could light up the darkest winter’s night. There was not a creature who didn’t love him on all Earth, he was the god of light and he would bring it even in the gloomiest of places, he was the god of justice and he made sure the laws of men and gods were respected both by peasants and kings, he was the god of lyrics and every creature would remain enchanted to drink every word falling from his mouth as if it was nectar. He was also the god of prophecy and he could see far, far away in the future, he could see marvelous inventions, exotic places still to discover, incredible people that still had to be born. The future his eyes could see was radiant and perfect.” 

“Did he see us now?” Asked Eliane hopeful.

“Yes, he did and he thought that it was time for the fair Eliane to close her eyes and start trying to get some sleep,” he answered caressing her dark curls. The child did as she was told, but she was smiling happily at the thought of the god of light watching over her. 

Grantaire raised his eyes. Enjolras was watching him intently with the same look that reminded Grantaire of his mother’s stories and of fairies, but there was something different that time, there was a hardness in Enjolras’ stare that had hadn’t been there before. It sent shivers down Grantaire’s spine. 

“So, Apollo, listening to tales about princess Cassandra, fell in love with her and decided to visit her in her dreams," Grantaire went on focusing on his niece’s peaceful face and trying to ignore Enjolras’ gaze with all his might. "The moment she saw him, even in the fleeting land of dreams, the princess felt her heart swell in her chest and when the god talked to her, she knew her heart wasn’t hers anymore. They decided to meet the next day at the temple of Apollo and Cassandra didn’t dream anything else for the rest of the night.”

“I want to dream of them,” Eliane mumbled sleepy and Enjolras shushed her sweetly caressing her head and almost touching Grantaire’s hand which was still lying over the pillow. 

“Go on, R,” he whispered and Grantaire was probably wrong, but it sounded like a plea. 

“But when Cassandra woke up, the morning light didn’t bring her the happiness and comfort she had hoped for, just dreadful realization: she was well-read and educated, she knew the stories of the gods and heroes and she knew that a mortal like her who fell in love with a god was destined to a life of sufferance and destruction, she wanted desperately to give herself completely to Apollo, but she was too afraid for herself and her family. So, when he met the god in his own temple, she refused his love and prayed him to go away from the lands of her city and never come back. Apollo couldn’t believe her words, he was desperate, he promised Cassandra everything: riches, treasures, eternal life and youth, power, but Cassandra still refused. Then Apollo remembered, there was one thing that Cassandra wanted more than everything else and it was knowledge, the princess had already studied and learned everything the world could offer, but there was one thing on which only Apollo could grant knowledge. Give me your heart, princess, and I’ll give you the gift of prophecy, he told her and Cassandra could not resist. They kissed and Apollo granted his gift, but in the moment in which Cassandra felt the power flowing in her veins, she refused the god once again. Apollo knowing he had been deceived, cursed Cassandra for her audacity to lie to a god. You’ll still have your gift, princess of Troy, he said, but you’ll never be able to share it with someone because every time you’ll try to speak about what you can see no one will ever believe you.”

There Grantaire stopped. Eliane was sleeping, finally. Her even breath was the only sound in the silent room. Grantaire raised his eyes, Enjolras was still watching him with an unnerving kind of focus.

“How does the story end?” He asked.

“You know how it ends,” he said instead of answering. Enjolras might not have been the greatest classic scholar, but anyone who had had any kind of classical education knew how Cassandra’s story ended. 

“Please, R.” 

Grantaire sighed but gave in, of course, he did, Enjolras was asking. 

“Cassandra didn’t care for the curse, she rejoiced in the knowledge in itself, she didn’t need to share it with others, but then one day, she saw the destruction of Troy, the annihilation of her own family and when she had to watch the people she loved the most scoff and laugh at her warnings and going straight towards their death, she understood the power of Apollo’s curse. There is nothing as painful as to have to watch the people you love the most going towards certain death and being unable to stop them or to stop watching.” 

Silence fell once again. 

“Would you like some herb tea? I’ll never admit that to Lizi but it really helps you sleep,” offered Grantaire before the tense atmosphere in the room could drive him mad. 

“I would like that, yes,” answered Enjolras with the smallest of smiles. 

They walked side by side towards the kitchen. Grantaire was humming some kind of melody, too afraid of the silence and Enjolras had a somber expression on his face. He looked like he was the one with a dying mother. 

“I know I’m not Homer, but usually people don’t get so offended by my story-telling skills,” commented Grantaire while putting the pot of herb tea back on the stove. 

“Don’t talk like that. You are really good, if I had someone telling stories like that when I was Eliane’s age I would have appreciated more my classical studies,” said Enjolras with a forced smile. 

“It really doesn’t seem as if you enjoyed that,” pressed Grantaire and he knew he was playing with fire: they were both tired and it was late and it was going to be difficult to measure their words, but Grantaire wanted to know what he did wrong. Why Enjolras had closed himself off so abruptly. 

“I loved the story," the other insisted in a firm tone. "It’s just… I was thinking.” 

“About what?” Inquired Grantaire curious while pouring the tea in two cups. He was giving his back to the young leader who was waiting for him sitting at the table, but he could still imagine Enjolras’ thinking face, he had admired that expression so many times from afar: eyes half-closed, chin high, the teeth worrying the bottom lip. 

“It’s stupid,” Enjolras answered sheepishly. And since when Enjolras could be sheepish? 

“Well, I am the expert on stupid thoughts here, so you should probably let me judge,” he said offering the other man his cup and sitting in front of him.

That earned him an amused smile and a sigh which probably meant Enjolras was giving in. Well, it was starting to be a night of firsts. 

“Was the Apollo of your story inspired by me?” He asked very slowly looking Grantaire in the eyes with so much attention as if the answer meant the world to him. 

Grantaire’s heart fell into his stomach. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Enjolras was not stupid and his Apollo’s description was far too clearly tailored around the young leader for him not noticing. He knew that projecting in his nieces’ bed-time stories was going to backfire sooner or later. 

“Why are you asking that?” He found the strength to reply. He couldn’t have faked surprise on his own life, so he hoped to muster at least a neutral tone. 

Enjolras blushed and shook his head.

“No reason, sorry, I told you it was stupid.”

“Enjolras…”

“I must have sounded so self-centered, my God, sorry. It’s just that what your mother said at dinner made me think a lot.” 

“Mother’s ramblings about love?” He asked and that time surprise arrived naturally. 

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire had to hold in a laugh. 

“And what does the mighty Enjolras care about love?” He asked mockingly. Enjolras tensed at his tone, every trace of a previous smile gone from his face. 

“Do you think that I am incapable of feeling love?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“What are you saying then?” He asked in a clipped tone. 

“That the love my mother was talking about is not the kind of love you’re interested in.” 

“And how do you know in what I’m interested in?” He pressed and he assumed the position he usually had during heated debates at the Musain. 

Grantaire smiled at him condescending.

“You’re right, I know nothing.” 

By then Enjolras was fuming.

“Just because I don’t bring to my bed every grisette that passes in front of me…”

“Now you’re confusing lust with love,” Grantaire interrupted him with a grin. 

Enjolras scoffed. 

“It surprises me that you know the difference,” he said maliciously, but Grantaire took no offense. He had heard worse from Enjolras’ lips. 

“Your problem, oh mighty leader, is that you confuse romantic love with lust and look at the both of them disdainfully. The love of a person for another has nothing to envy to your spotless love for our Patria.” 

“Is that what you think?” 

“Yes.” 

“To love Patria is to love an incorruptible ideal. Loving someone always means to close your eyes in front of their flaws.” 

“You say so, but you fight every day to make France better.” 

“You should not wish to change your lover.” 

“There’s no arm in some kind of flaws: pride is a sin, but I would not mind a proud lover if my lover was mean to children though I would try to make him change his behavior. French people are proud, but you do not wish to change that, you want to stop children’s exploitation.” 

“Patria is an ideal, it is ephemeral and untouchable, you can’t lust over Her,” went on Enjolras with even more passion than before. 

“While, yes, lust is often part of romantic love it is not the only part and often it can have no part at all: you can love someone with such tenderness, with such pure joy that the mere act of look at them satisfies your heart. Touch is not necessary when the only thing you dream about is the merge of each other’s souls.” 

“That sound a lot like the kind of veneration your mother was talking about.” 

“And tell me, can you be sure that what you feel for Patria is not veneration?” 

They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like centuries. Enjolras had an unreadable expression on his face and Grantaire’s heart was beating so hard in his chest he feared it could be heard in the silence of the dark kitchen. 

“Well, this proves my point,” Enjolras stated breaking the silence. He reclined on the chair’s back and sipped from his cup with a satisfied expression. 

“What?” Grantaire asked confused. He was almost sure to have misheard because of the sound of his own heart. 

“You just proved that I know as much about love as you do,” he explained plainly but there was the hint of a smirk in his voice. 

Grantaire didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or to cry or maybe hit Enjolras on the face. Or kiss him. Probably the last one. Before he could voice any of his wishes, a soft knocking moved their attention at the door where the domestic girl Clara was waiting to be acknowledged. 

“The cart for Monsieur Enjolras is at the entrance,” she informed them. 

“Thank you, Clara. You can go to bed, now.”

She thanked him and made a little curtsy before disappearing in the hallway. 

“Thank you for the tea and the debate, R. It was really appreciated. I hope you’ll be able to join us to the beach tomorrow,” Enjolras said raising and putting the cup in the washbasin. Grantaire could not understand how he could act so normal after what just happened.

Or maybe it had been so distressing just for Grantaire because he had still to understand how to behave like a normal adult human being around Enjolras. 

“I hope so too,” he answered. 

Grantaire walked Enjolras at the door where the both of them stopped to look at the cart waiting. Enjolras seemed pensive once again, but before Grantaire could inquire, for the second time that night, what he was thinking about, Enjolras bent and pressed two kisses on Grantaire’s cheeks.

“Thank you again, R, for everything. Good night,” he whispered in his ear, so near that Grantaire could have counted all his breaths. 

“Good night, Enjolras,” he whispered back. 

He watched him stepping on the cart and disappear in the night and then remained there, in the crisp air reflecting about that strange night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm very very late this week, I'm so sorry! But to compensate this chapter is a bit longer than usual.  
> Marius' sentence about love is a direct quote from the one and only Victor Hugo.  
> Did I call Angelique's faincé Victor to cite Hugo twice in the same chapter? Maybe. 
> 
> Cassandra's myth is one of my favorites, here I revisited it a bit to fit better in the narrative.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! let me know what you think in the comments and come to say hi on my tumblr [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	6. Grantaire has a dream and Enjolras gives a private speech

_Grantaire was observing the scene like he was outside his own body. He could see himself entering the Musain slightly unsure on his legs, probably already tipsy, but where he had been before he could not remember. Once inside he was greeted by Louison’s two younger brothers running around the room with dishes of fragrant food and glasses of wine. Louise was not behind the counter. At her place was Ida, her older sister, sporting a rounder and swollen belly. He made a gesture in her direction to say hi and she replied with a disapproving look and an annoyed sigh._

_She was as funny as a swarm of bees, but he had missed her, she hadn’t come to the Musain since she had married and the café had never felt the same without her cutting comments and judging looks._

_He walked right towards the backroom’s door. Louison was there, half turned towards the door. It was clear she had been stopped on her way out of the room, she still had an empty trail in one hand while she was leaning on Jehan and Feuilly’s table with the other. At the table beside theirs, Joly and Bossuet were talking animatedly, already more than tipsy. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were at the front of the room discussing in an ushered tone while Enjolras and Bahorel were chatting with Musichetta on the door which led to the back alley._

_I_ _t was one of those moments which happened instants before the beginning of a meeting. The air was dizzy with anticipation but the atmosphere was still relaxed and warm. Grantaire loved those moments. He moved towards Joly and Bossuet’s table keeping his eyes glued on Enjolras’ blond curls but before he could reach his friend the scene changed._

_He was alone in the Musain._

_No, it wasn’t the Musain anymore. It was the Corinthe. The light filtered from the only window of the room, but Grantaire couldn’t tell if it was sunrise or sundown. Everything was silent and still. He could hear muffled steps from the upper floor. He searched for the stairs and noticed a trace of blood on the handrail._

_"You are late.”_

_The hard voice of Enjolras came behind his back, but it was not directed to him. Marius had tried to sneak in without being seen failing terribly. He looked pale and out of breath and elicited immediately a worried look from Joly._

_“_ _What is wrong, dear?” The medical student asked him offering him Bossuet’s glass of wine. Bossuet didn’t protest, he had a soft spot for Pontmercy and was too interested in knowing his last misfortune to really care._

_“_ _You look as if you just saw a ghost getting out from the Musain kitchen,” commented the bald man with an amused smile._

_“In that case, I can assure you, it was no ghost: it’s that Eponine girl Louison keeps feeding,” interrupted Jehan taking the chair next to Marius’._

_“_ _Oh! She could have been a ghost for how fast she disappeared from my sight,” Marius sighed dramatically before taking his face between his hands._

_“Did our dear Pontmercy lost his mind after some lovely grisette? I’ve never thought I’d lived to see this day!” Grantaire snickered and intercepted the glass that had been completely ignored by Pontmercy._

_At the other table, Enjolras rolled his eyes._

_“Is this really the moment?” Grantaire’s mother’s voice came from the sofa near the fireplace._

_She had just raised her eyes from her needlework and directed his attention on her husband lecturing his first son on the futility of reading classic literature._

_“_ _It will always be the moment until your son won’t understand the importance of focusing on the really useful things of life,” her husband replied annoyed and snatching the book Grantaire’s was reading from the boy’s hands and throwing it carelessly on the floor._

_“Come on, dear. Adrian just came back from boarding school. He worked hard all year, let him distract himself for a while.”_

_His father grunted._

_“Yes! And how much has he worked, right? He failed his math class! Again.”_

_At that point, his father was almost screaming. Grantaire tried to make himself as small as possible on the armchair, he was trying very hard not to start trembling, but he knew his father expression too well not to fear what was going to come._

_“_ _Not everyone can have your ability with numbers, Marcus,” Grantaire’s mother tried to mediate pretending to be too concentrate on her work to meet her husband’s eyes._

_“No, no, this is enough. He has to stop with this behavior or he can walk out.”_

_“Enjolras,” Combeferre said in a soothing tone, pressing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, but the young leader shook his head._

_“No, I said it’s enough. I can tolerate this until it doesn’t affect our work here, but now he’s just being disruptive. Get out, Grantaire. You’re drunk enough to go sleep it off in your lodgings anyway,” he said._

_His hard stare burned Grantaire’s retina, but the artist was too enchanted to lower his eyes. Everyone remained still for some long instants. Then Grantaire slowly stood up. He patted Joly’s shoulder and took a long gulp of wine directly from his bottle, all of this without taking his eyes off of Enjolras, and then started walking towards the door. Before he could reach it, though, he felt slender fingers wrapping around his elbow to stop him._

_“You are going to drink yourself to death one of his day,” Enjolras sneered, low enough to be heard just by Grantaire._

_“This is mostly the point, angel,” he answered with a grin. Enjolras regarded him with a puzzled expression but let him go. Grantaire stumbled out without turning back. When he looked around though he didn’t find himself on the back ally of the café._

_He was in an elegant bedroom. It was awfully similar to Lizi’s bedroom in her home in Arles, but the young woman packing her clothes hastily wasn’t Lizi._

_“Francoise, you can’t live me. I’m your husband. I love you,” came the broken voice of a man on the other side of the closed door. Even from there Grantaire could smell the reek of alcohol. Grantaire moved his eyes to his mother, she was crying silently and a dark bruise was blooming on her left chin._

_“Francoise!” A woman Grantaire had never seen before appeared at the door greeting his mother with a wide smile._

_“_ _Aunt Ange, it is such a pleasure to have you here,” said his mother returning the warm smile and embracing the woman with the kind of affection Grantaire had rarely seen from the woman._

_“Well, I heard my sister decided to disavow you and I felt you needed at least one aunt at your side,” the strange woman declared and then turned around to fix her stare on Grantaire. “And tell me, who is that young boy spying on us from the hallway?” She asked with a serious expression, but there was clearly a smile lurking at the sides of her mouth and Grantaire was not worried._

_“Aunt, he’s Adrian, my third. Adrian, come to say hi to my aunt Angelique, she is your grandmother’s sister.”_

_The old woman sat down on a chair with a tired sigh and stretched her arms towards Grantaire, inviting him to reach her. He blushed but he obediently walked over. His mother’s aunt didn’t say anything for a while, she just looked at him pensive and passed one hand through his unkempt hair. Grantaire decided he liked her: she seemed old, but the wrinkles on her face were the ones of someone smiling often and freely, she had big brown eyes that sparkled with curiosity and her grey hair were curly like Grantaire’s._

_“He’s all your father, Francoise, all your father. The same exact eyes,” she said finally moving her eyes from Grantaire to his mother. The other woman smiled and nodded._

_“He loves to draw too,” she said proudly and Grantaire looked at her shocked._

_His father didn’t like his interest in drawing and the subject was most of the time ignored in his family like some kind of shameful secret, but now her mother was telling someone about it and both of them seemed happy, Grantaire could not have been more confused._

_“I’m glad he does or my gift for him would have been a complete waste,” she said with a little smirk and extracted a book from her travel bag. It was an incredibly beautiful book with a velvet cover and golden engravings. When she opened it, Grantaire could hardly believe his eyes. It was full of drawings both black and white and colored and all of them were amazing._

_“Can I really keep it, mother?” Asked Grantaire in complete disbelief._

_“_ _Yes, dear. Let’s just not tell father about it, all right?”_

_“_ _Adrian, do you know who the people in the pictures are?” His mother’s aunt asked him kindly. Grantaire shook his head._

_“Francoise, how do you hope to raise him as a civilized man if you don’t make him study the classics?”_

_“He’s eight, aunt. There’s time. Now, Adrian, why don’t you bring Aunt Ange to meet little Marie?” Grantaire clutched his new book at his chest and offered his free hand to the old woman with a bright smile which she returned with a low chuckle._

_“So, my dear, did your mother ever told you about your grandfather?” She asked him when they went far enough not be heard by his mother._

_He was in a field. Mud and blood covered the ground. There were corpses everywhere. It seemed that Grantaire was the only person alive._

_They had fought, but for what he did not remember. Something told him they had won, even if it didn’t seem like that at all. The air was hot, wet and heavy, his clothes were sticking on his skin but if it was for the sweat of for the blood he could not tell. Not a bird was singing and not a blade of grass was moving in the warm afternoon._

_Suddenly, Grantaire heard something. Someone was calling his name. He frantically looked around and noticed one of the corpses feebly moving a little further. He nearly run in that direction and kneeled at the body’s side. When he realized who he was, he screamed with all his might, an ugly, desperate cry, something that came deep inside of him and he started sobbing._

_“Take my hand,” whispered Enjolras weakly._

_Grantaire, who had never refused him once in his life, took his hand and hold it between his with religious reverence. Enjolras smiled and then his eyes closed._

_“_ _Enjolras!” Grantaire screamed desperate._

Cool hands were touching his forehead and there was something cold on his neck and on his wrists. Grantaire blinked his eyes open and was surprised to find himself in his own bed.

No, not his bed. That had not been his bed for some time already. Joly was sat at his side. He had one hand on Grantaire’s forehead and a worried look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” He croaked weakly.

“I came here to ask you to join us at the beach, but when I arrived there was your sister outside your door in half a panic saying she had heard you screaming in your sleep.”

“It is nothing, I just had a nightmare.”

“You don’t look like someone who has nothing,” pressed Joly sternly.

“It was only a bad dream, Jolllly, really,” he insisted passing a hand over his face just to discover that his wrist was covered with a cloth soaked in cold water.

“Did you drink last night?” Joly asked cautiously while taking away the cloths form Grantaire’s wrists and neck.

“No, of course not. I’d say the problem is the opposite actually. I’m used to going without alcohol for a couple weeks when I visit the girls, but a month is starting to be a bit too much.”

“In this case, my advice would be to concede yourself at least a glass, something to calm you down.”

“I don’t drink around my nieces, Joly, you know that,” he said firmly and when he heard his friend’s sigh, he knew he had won that argument.

“As you prefer, but in that case, I’d suggest to join us at the beach, some sun and fresh air will surely help you get your strengths back.”

Grantaire grunted.

“Sun and fresh air sound like the two things I want the least at the moment,” he said hiding his face in the pillow and tightening the covers around himself.

“Well, I’m very sad to hear that. And I know another person who’ll be really, really sad to know you won’t join us at the beach,” commented Joly in a more than necessary allusive voice.

“I don’t know what came over you all to convince you that this would be the perfect moment to start doing something about my feelings for Enjolras. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m here waiting for my mother’s death,” Grantaire said freeing his face from the pillow just to glare at Joly meaningfully. The guilty expression on Joly’s face was priceless.

“I know! You’re right, I thought exactly like you at first and I said so to Courfeyrac immediately. But you have to admit, you and Enjolras are getting along pretty well lately.”

“Yes, because I’m never enough drunk to make an ass of myself every half an hour. When we’ll be back in Paris, everything will go back to normal and he’ll continue to barely tolerate me as usual.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason. I’d say that it is because you tend to let your guard down when you’re staying with your family,” suggested Joly with a kind smile. Grantaire could not help but start laughing loudly.

“Joly, I love you, but you’re making no sense right now. If anything, my guard just gets higher around my family.”

“I know, I know. I did not explain myself correctly. The fact is that you’re so tense all the time around your family, so when you’re just with us you can relax and you tend to be the version of Grantaire me, Chetta and Boss get to see most of the time. I’m not saying it is the best version, I love drunk Grantaire exactly as much, but it is surely a version that helps appreciate the others better.”

“You are making me blush,” Grantaire commented in an exaggerated coy voice.

“You can joke your way out of this all you want, but the truth stays: I think Enjolras is learning to appreciate all the aspects of you and I dare say he’s enjoying it.”

“He’s just being nice because he feels sorry for me, you all are just reading too much into this.”

“If you say so, mine was just a suggestion,” said Joly raising his hands feigning a defeated expression which was made completely ineffective by his bad hidden smile.

“Which I’ll take into consideration. Are you happy now?”

“Very. Now get up and prepare yourself. Next stop, breakfast, then we’ll go to the beach.” Grantaire sighed, but diligently followed Joly’s instructions.

“Was it Lizi or Marie?”

“What, dear?” Asked Joly caught off guard.

“To hear me scream.”

“Oh, it was Lizi. And before you could say anything, it won’t affect the baby. She just got worried about you for a couple of minutes, you did not compromise the pregnancy.”

“I should not add this kind of scares on top of everything.”

“It is hardly something you can control. Did you… when I entered, you screamed Enjolras’ name, were you…”

“Yes, I dreamed you were dying, again,” confirmed Grantaire without being able to look his friend in the eyes.

“Grantaire.”

“There is nothing to say, it comes with being your friend and I wouldn’t change it for the world,” he assured tenderly squeezing Joly’s shoulder.

“I just wish you could see what we see instead of this darkness,” sighed Joly sadly.

“Maybe one day my friend, maybe one day.”

They descended the stairs slowly, Grantaire matching Joly’s pace.

“I also dreamt of mother’s first marriage,” Grantaire revealed after a while.

“Really?” He nodded.

“There is something that’s not right about the story she and Lizi told yesterday,” he explained while making sure that Joly’s cane was well planted on the next step.

“What do you mean?” Asked Joly confused.

“I know for a fact that mother arrived in France the same year I was born, but Lizi told me that she left the United States soon after leaving Charles, while she was still pregnant with her which make no sense: it would mean there is a hole of six years in which mother wasn’t neither in America neither in France.”

“Maybe Lizi was just confused. It happened a long time ago after all,” tried to reason Joly.

“Yes, maybe, I don’t know… It’s just that no one ever told me the complete story, you know? Now I fear they’re keeping more secret from me,” Grantaire explained passing a hand over his face. He could not believe himself, he was there thinking about absurd theories on his mother’s life.

“It’s a stressing time for everyone, R. Going out will help, it will take your mind off of those thoughts for a while,” Joly said with an encouraging smile which Grantaire returned with gratitude.

“And if this story bothers you so much, maybe you could just ask your mother. I’m sure there will be a completely normal explanation,” Joly added with a reasoning voice pressing a reassuring hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

In the dining room, Lizi was giving instructions to the domestics. It seemed like mother's condition had worsened overnight.

"How's mother?" He asked his sister while sitting at the table.

"She got weaker, I doubt she'll rise from her bed anytime soon, but at least she enjoyed the dinner."

"Did she?"

"She said she wanted to talk to us about mine and Jaques' father anyway. She likes your friends, by the way."

"They can be charming sometimes," he commented grinning at Joly.

“And, how are you?” Lizi asked trying to conceal her worry.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You didn’t sound perfectly fine earlier,” mumbled Lizi handing him a cup of tea.

“It was just a bad dream, there is no need to worry about a bad dream. You had plenty when we were little, remember?”

His sister nodded wistfully.

“The passage from America to France hit me pretty hard,” she explained to Joly with a kind smile then turned her attention back to her brother. “Are you planning to go to the beach?”

“It was my intention yes.”

“And are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Yes, Lizi, I told you.”

Joly mumbled something under his breath, but Lizi was respectful enough to ignore it.

“I need to ask you another favor, then. I promised Angelique she could take a walk with her sweetheart today provided that you could accompany her.”

“Oh Heavens, Lizi. What do you think they’re going to do? They’re seventeen, it’s not as if they would know what to do even if we let them alone in a bedroom,” commented Grantaire with an unbothered tone.

“That is not the point,” replied his sister sternly.

“What’s the point then?”

“You know how Lili is. She’s instinctive, unpredictable, too romantic…”

“You’re saying she’s too similar to Marie.”

“R,” Joly reprimanded him in a warning tone.

“I didn’t say that,” protested Lizi.

“But you think it. Lili is not going to run away, she loves you too much.”

Lizi regarded him with an unimpressed look.

“I do my best. I’m not asking you to control them, just to walk at a safe distance to limit the gossips in town. There are already enough about our family.”

“All right, all right, I’ll watch over the family’s reputation,” Grantaire conceded while reaching for the croissants’ trail.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll let Angelique know when you’re ready to go out.”

 

“That is Victor, then,” said Combeferre nearing him.

They were all at the beach warming up in the feeble March sun or chasing the waves. To be quite honest the only ones chasing the waves were Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Jehan who had discarded their shoes and socks and rolled up their pants and declared they wanted to try to be one with nature and then proceeded to enter in the freezing water until it covered their knees. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had instead chosen to lay on the cover Musichetta had brought, one hugged to the others. At their side, sat on Louison’s shawl, Marius was stumbling his way through some kind of speech while the waitress listened intently. Not too far away, Enjolras and Feuilly were walking back and forth on the seashore.

It was difficult to notice if you weren't paying attention, but seemed that Enjolras was playing a personal game with the waves, walking slowly near the verge of the water when they withdrew and then walking slightly faster when it came back on the sand. It was such a childish thing to do and nobody seemed to have noticed their fierce leader engaged in such activity, not even Feuilly who was walking by his side. It was warming Grantaire’s heart more than the tepid rays of the Murch sun could have ever done.

He had been so focused on Enjolras’ movements that he had not noticed Combeferre approaching and he nearly jumped on the spot when he heard him talking beside him.

“Combeferre, I didn’t hear you.”

“I figured. You seemed immersed in something else,” said the medical student matter-of-fact.

The problem was that Grantaire had had, for some time by then, the piercing impression that Combeferre disapproved of his interest in Enjolras which was completely unfair by the way, it wasn’t as if Grantaire could control his feelings.

So, he decided to stir back the conversation to his sister and her fiancé.

“Anyway, yes, apparently that is Victor.”

“Jehan said he was quite unimpressive.”

And for how much Combeferre was making him nervous those days, Grantaire could not help to love that man who could completely destroy another human being with the mere inclination of his voice and the slight raise of an eyebrow. Grantaire snickered.

“I asked him about his interests. You know what he said?”

“Do tell.”

“Riding and hunting.”

Grantaire could see Combeferre’s strain to try to hide his distaste.

“He said he had some interests in the Republican cause, though,” Grantaire added feeling guilty, not towards the young man, of course, but for his sister who seemed so enchanted by him.

“I would be surprised if any seventeen years old bourgeoise didn’t express sympathy for the cause. You have to wait a couple of years before calling them true companions.”

“Didn’t you and Enjolras meet when you were seventeen?”

“You know, maybe better than me, that no one could hear our Enjolras speak and think that he is not genuinely passionate for the cause with all of his soul. At any age,” Combeferre answered with an affectionate smile and turned slightly to cast a glance towards his best friend.

Grantaire hummed pensively.

“There must have been an age in which his mind was free from such heavy thoughts.”

“You’ll have to ask Courfeyrac for that and I’m sure he will be more than happy to answer, he loves to recount his and Enjolras’ adventures in their early years,” replayed Combeferre with a wide smile. Grantaire thought there was no other man on Earth who loved his friends so dearly.

“Enjolras must be less fond of the memories, I assume,” he countered almost instinctively. A shadow fell over Combeferre face and he turned his eyes towards him.

“It is not as if you ever asked him about them, did you?”

Grantaire was about to reply but Combeferre blocked him with a commanding gesture.

“It was sometime I wanted to talk to you about it, R. I hope you won’t take it the wrong way and probably I could have chosen better timing, but I share Prouvaire and Louison’s opinion that with the both of you in such a mood, things could get out of hand faster than usual. Enjolras has a heart too, R. Whatever you may say or think on the matter.”

“I know that, Combeferre,” Grantaire interjected, surprised by his friend sudden change of mood.

“You often act as if you didn’t, R. I’m not accusing you, I know Enjolras can be… difficult to read.”

“Combeferre, I don’t even know…”

“Adrian! Adrian.”

His sister’s voice distracted him from what he was about to say and the both of them turned towards the source of the voice.

“What is it, Lili?” He asked her half worried when she reached them dragging Victor behind her.

“I just had the most wonderful idea, let’s all go to the church,” she answered breathlessly after the short run on the sand.

“I don’t think that would be the best idea,” he commented cautiously. He really didn’t want to go, but at the same time, he didn’t want Combeferre, or even worse Victor, to ask why.

“Oh please, Adrian, please! It is such a lovely walk from here and you could show your painting to your friends,” pleaded Angelique and Grantaire cringed internally. Maybe Combeferre wasn’t paying attention and he didn’t catch Lili’s words.

“You didn’t tell us there was one of your paintings in the town’s church,” commented Combeferre proving once again that Lady Luck had no sympathies for Grantaire.

“I made it when I was really young, it is not much to see,” he explained in a dismissive tone. At those words, Angelique made a face as if she had been personally offended.

“That is absolutely not true! That painting is incredible, it is one of my favorites of yours,” she protested stumping her foot on the sand. “Now we must go to the church to prove how wrong you are.” She continued and started marching with decision along the shore, his fiancé trailing behind.

Grantaire sighed and started following her at a much slower pace while, at his side, Combeferre was chuckling amused.

Everyone, of course, was ecstatic at the idea of seeing the church and the infamous painting and soon, or at least as soon as Joly’s bad leg permitted it, they arrived at the destination.

The church wasn’t the only church in town. It wasn’t even the biggest one, but it surely was the most scenic: it faced directly the beach with its central apse pointing to the sea and his main entrance opening on a little maritime pines wood. It was all white with colorful windows and a little dome painted gold, a little concession from the Grantaire family. Inside the little church was as simple as outside: it had a lovely, but not particularly special, a fresco of Christ’s ascension on the apse and the dome, a mosaic at the entrance picturing the Tree of Knowledge in Eden and paintings depicting the life of Christ along the walls. Between those paintings, there was Grantaire’s one.

“There had been a water infiltration on that wall and some paintings had been ruined so the priest asked the people of the town, if they had some artistic interest, to replace them with their own works. Mother insisted that I had to make something so I did, but I was just sixteen and I really didn’t have much of a technique. I don’t like it,” Grantaire explained while all his friend plus his little sister and her fiancé were silently observing the painting.

It was on the right wall of the church, quite near the altar, and it depicted the scene where Jesus Christ was brought in front of Pontius Pilate. He remembered he had to use Marie dressed up like a man as a model for Christ which he had always found kind of ironic, but both Jaques and Lizi had already been out of the house at the time and he was not going to ask his father to be his model so he had to use himself as a reference for Pilate. It was a bad painting: the perspective was all wrong, the colors confusing, it had nor balance nor focus, nonetheless he felt a strange affection towards it, in the end, it was the first painting he had ever exposed to the public.

“R, this is really beautiful and you were only sixteen, amazing,” commented Jehan almost in a whisper while stepping forward to analyze the kneeling figure of Christ more closely.

“Really, R, the cape is just… breath-taking. What did you use as a reference?” Asked Feuilly with his eyes locked on the painting.

“We had really nice curtains at home,” Grantaire mumbled as an answer.

He glanced at the main door. No one was paying attention to him, he could go out and escape the torture he was living in that moment. If there was something Grantaire hated fiercely it was having to hear people talking about his art. Especially if the people talking were his friends because he could never quite silence the voice in his head reminding him that they were being nice only because he was their friend.

“It is by far the most well-done among the ones in here,” Louise said, but Grantaire had already a foot outside the door when she finished her sentence.

He walked with a sure pace towards the cemetery at the left of the church. It was surrounded by a dry-stone wall with shards of glass on top, put there to keep out the animals, glinting in the sun. It also faced the sea and Grantaire had often thought he could not be so bad dying in that little town if that was the view you gained for the rest of eternity. He spared a glance to the Grantaire’s mausoleum where his father and his grandfather and all the Grantaire before them rested, but he didn’t stop there.

He went on straight until a little tomb not too much far away, on top of which had been put a marvelous statue of the Muse Urania, the muse of astrology. Well, technically the wings and aureole made it an angel, but Grantaire knew that those particulars had been added just to appease his father.

On the black granite of the tombstone, in golden letters, it was written:

_A_ _ngelique Masson 1748 – 1818_

_“Elle joignait la vertu la plus pure à la beauté la plus touchante.”_

He remembered choosing those words after a week secluded in the library. It was a quote of Diderot talking about the mathematician Hypatia. He had wanted to choose a quote directly from her, but his father had forbidden it.

“We’re not going to put the words of a pagan on a tombstone. She made speak enough of herself when she was alive,” he had said with finality and, as usual, Grantaire’s mother had not insisted.

“Hi, Aunt Ange, I came back. Did you miss me?” He asked with a sad smile caressing the old picture of his aunt beside the quote.

He also remembered the day it had been drawn: his aunt had brought him and Marie on a trip to Paris and a street artist in Montmartre had asked if he could draw her. Aunt Ange would always catch everyone’s eye even if she wasn’t the most conventional beauty, even in her older years.

Right at that moment, he heard steps on the gravel, he turned and caught Enjolras trying to slowly walk backward. Both of them froze immediately and look at each other for some long instants.

“I’m really sorry Grantaire, I didn’t mean to spy on you,” Enjolras said finally, breaking the silence.

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asked in a harsher tone than he had meant.

“You practically run away and I wanted to make sure you were all right, but I see now that I probably should have given you your spaces.”

He turned and started walking away.

Combeferre’s words from earlier that evening came back to Grantaire. Even if he hadn’t truly understood what the medical student had tried to say, he decided that they could have least meant that he should have been sincere with Enjolras even when he was not black-out drunk.

“Enjolras, wait. I’m not sure I want to be alone right now.”

The other man froze. Then he turned back slowly as if testing the truth behind Grantaire words. He approached Grantaire with the same pace and looking him directly in the eyes.

For a moment, it seemed as if he was a hunter trying not to scare a wild animal. No, not a hunter. His look was not the one of someone who wanted to wound. That look was calming and reassuring, an ethereal caress against Grantaire’s skin.

“Was she your aunt?” Enjolras asked once he kneeled beside Grantaire.

The other man shook his head.

“No, she was my mother’s aunt, one of my grandmother’s two sisters.”

“Was the other one the Elizabeth you were talking at dinner yesterday?”

“Yes, exactly. After aunt Ange heard about her sister disavowing mother she came here immediately and offered to help raise me and my siblings. Combeferre would have liked her very much, she spent all her life studying the universe and the stars, but reserved her last years to look after us.”

“Do you miss her?”

Grantaire stayed silent. The answer was, of course, yes. Aunt Ange had been the only beacon of hope in that cold and unaccepting house and her departure had thrown Grantaire in a pit of despair deeper that he was ready to admit. At the same time, though, it had been almost fourteen years and the wound that had been left on Grantaire had been soothed by alcohol and closed by time.

“I miss her every day of my life,” he whispered softly.

It was a truth he had never uttered to anyone not even to Joly. Well, Joly knew that without the need of words, but saying them aloud felt like something lifting of Grantaire’s heart.

Some instants passed in complete silence. Then Enjolras spoke again.

“My family has always been quite restricted, it was me, mother and father. My father and his brother had never been quite close and we see him rarely. My parents are nothing but full of love for me, but they can be, uhm, distracted sometimes. I’ve always suspected they had not programmed to be parents, but anyway, I remember observing Courfeyrac’s family and thinking that that was what family must be like: the laughter and the confusion and the arguing. It felt so mismatched, but so right at the same time. I’ve never thought I could ever find one of my own, but I was wrong. I found the best of families in Paris, you all are the family I’ve never hoped I could have asked for and this is the reason why I’m here. You are family Grantaire and I can only imagine how painful it must be for you, but I’ll always be here, if you need anything, I’ll always be here.”

Grantaire turned towards Enjolras. The young men had the same expression in his eyes of when he declared his faith in the future. There was the same certainty in his own words. Grantaire was sure he was going to burn under the fire of that look.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he stuttered after some long instances of silence.

"What do you mean?" Asked Enjolras and he sounded genuinely confused.

"Being supportive. I know you have better things to worry about than my feelings."

"I have the vague impression you have not listened to a word of what I just said. Not that that would be surprising at all."

"I always listen, angel. Just, sometimes, I can't believe what you're saying."

"I remember that once you said you believe in me. Do I have to deduce you said those words in jest?"

"Believing in you and believing that what you say is the pure truth are two very different things."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

"Are you making fun of me Grantaire?"

"I never make fun of you. That's the problem."

He turned his eyes away from Enjolras. That had been too much honesty for just one day.

"I believe my problem is that I don't understand what you're trying to say most of the times. But I think I'm getting better at guessing."

“I’m never trying to say anything,” Grantaire replied mechanically. It wasn’t true and Enjolras knew it so he just shook his head but said nothing.

Silence fell once again. Grantaire fixed his eyes on his aunt’s grave. He wished she could be there with them, she always had the best advice for any situation and Heaven knew if he needed some advice.

“R?” Enjolras called after a while. He sounded unsure as if he was still making up is mind about what to say next.

“Yes?”

“Could you look at me, please?”

Grantaire sighed. Enjolras should have known by then that he never said no to him.

“Adrian! Adrian, there you are,” his sister interrupted for the second time that day. “We have to start to walk back home if we want to be there in time for the tea,” she remembered him.

She started to say something else but stopped the moment her eyes fell onto the tombstone in front of which her brother was kneeling. A look of complete mortification appeared on her face.

“Oh. Sorry, Adrian. I’ll just wait for you in front of the church. Take all the time you need,” she added swiftly before turning around and stepping away hurriedly.

He watched her going away before standing up and brushing the dust from his pants while observing, with the corner of his eye, Enjolras doing the same.

“Is your sister called after her?” Enjolras asked looking at the grave.

“Yes. Mother always insisted on using names from the family. She was very upset with Lizi for having interrupted the tradition.”

“And who are you called after?”

“After my mother’s godfather. He died the same year I was born, mother is dramatic like that.”

Enjolras smiled amused and offered him his arm to walk together. Grantaire accepted with a grin. He was only human after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I missed a monday! I'm so sorry but my exams' period is nearer every day and I'm going a bit mad. I want to warn you that I'll miss a monday again so the next chapter won't be in two weeks but three (I have to study and Ipm working on another project at the momeent so I'll slow down a little with this one). 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, as always leave comments and kudos to let me know what do you think. A thank you for all the people that commented and kudoed and keep reading! 
> 
> Come to say hi at [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	7. Grantaire's mother gets confused about her husbands and Victor isn't the only one Lizi doesn't like

“So, this is Victor then.”

Lizi’s voice came from behind Grantaire, cold and vaguely judgmental. Grantaire turned around to face his sister and almost started laughing at her forced smile.

“You don’t like him,” he noticed amused.

“I do like him,” she protested but without even trying that hard.

“Please, Lizi. You’re doing that face of yours where you make that, frankly, scary smile. Your mouth says having a lovely evening with my family, but your eyes say planning the plagues of the apocalypse.”

She scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. Anyway, my problem is not who she’s choosing but her idiotic stubbornness in wanting to marry at all costs. She’s still young, I don’t understand why they can’t settle on a long engagement.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you and Philippe had been engaged for less than a month when you married,” he commented with a sly smile. He wanted to make her sister laugh and relax a little, but it was immediately clear that he hit really far from the mark: his sister tensed suddenly and her forced smile transformed in a hard line.

“With me and Philippe was different. I was older, for one, and I had the duty to make a family for all of you since Marcus got sick, Angelique was still a baby, Marie’s mood swings were getting worse and you were still studying. What was I supposed to do? Wait for my career to take off and let all of you grew up without a mother and a father?”

Grantaire was at a loss of words. He had never thought about why Lizi had chosen to marry so early, she had just started her career as an opera singer at the time, she was really good, she had been saying for years that she didn’t want to rely on Marcus’ money anymore, but when Philippe had proposed she had said yes immediately.

It was just another way not to rely on her family’s money, Grantaire had thought. To be quite honest, he had hated her a little for marrying and create another family away from them. But now that he actually reflected on it, it made sense: their mother had just started getting worse and worse, his father had just got sick as well, Marie was not well at all, Lili was so little and he was still in Geneva studying or, more likely, spending his family’s money without giving anything back. Philippe would have provided a safe home away from Marcus but still near enough that Lizi could have still taken care of them, their mother and financial stability.

“Lizi, I’ve never…” he started to say but he quickly realized he couldn’t find the words. She shook her head, an apologetic smile slowly making its way on her lips.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, dear, I’m so sorry. I’m just really tired, you know?”

It was clear that she wanted to change the subject and that she was waiting for Grantaire to follow her lead, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt it was important to talk about it, about all the things left unsaid between them when he was still an irresponsible young man and his sister already the head of their family, at the same time though he didn’t want to put Lizi under more stress than she already was.

“I should go talking to mother now, when I left her, she was still rambling about me forbidding her to participate to this gathering, as she said,” Lizi started talking again when it became clear that Grantaire had no intention to say anything at all.

“I’ll go,” he finally found the strength to say. “You need to sit down and rest for a while.”

For a moment, Lizi seemed surprised by his sudden recovered ability to form sentences, but she recomposed fairly quickly.

“You don’t need to, she is probably grumpy, she’ll be worse to deal with,” she warned him but it was clear by her expression that it was going to be easier than usual to convince her.

“Don’t worry, dear sister, it’s better humoring mother than listening to another one of Victor’s hunting stories.”

Lizi made a pained noise, but she smiled slightly and didn’t protest further Grantaire’s plan. He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek, took his leave from the others with a polite bow and directed himself towards his mother’s rooms.

His mother was laying in her bed. If possible, her bedroom was even more suffocating than the rest of her rooms: she insisted that the curtains stayed closed all day, assuring everyone that the sunlight hurt her eyes, she wanted the fire lighted day and night and numerous candles all over room which were put on very expensive candelabras about which Grantaire had heard the servant girls complaining more than once for how difficult they were to clean from all the wax.

It was so hot in there that Grantaire had to take off his jacket to feel comfortable, his mother instead was lying on the bed, covered with an awfully warm dressing gown and cushions all around her. She had an arm over her face and she was sighing heavily.

“Are you here to treat your own mother as a little child too?” She asked in a watery voice the moment he made his entrance in the room.

“What are you even talking about, mother?” He asked sitting on the chair near her bed.

“Your sister came here earlier, scolding me because I had the audacity to believe I had the right to go meet my daughter’s fiancé,” she complained while peeking from under her arms at his son expression.

“Mother, you can’t get up from the bed. Doctor’s orders,” he reminded her condescendingly.

“Oh, who cares what the doctor says. I’m going to die anyway, at least I’d like to meet my future son-in-law before.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he protested, but it was feeble even at his own hears.

“There is no need to protect me from the truth, dear. It is a miracle I even arrived at this age, but I understand it is a subject that could upset you, so, why don’t you tell me about this Victor, is he any good for our Angelique?”

He shrugged non-committedly.

“He is a fine young man. He seems very polite and really smitten with Lili.”

“Ah, measured compliments, is he that boring?”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” he answered with a wink eliciting an amused laugh from his mother.

“Well, I’m almost disappointed. I would have loved to see another one of my children’s weddings before going away.”

“Mother,” he chastised her again.

“You’re right, you’re right, sorry. So, tell me. Where were you this morning? Lizi told me you went out with your friends.”

“We took a stroll down to the beach. Angelique insisted to bring them to the church.”

“Oh, of course, to make them see that lovely painting of yours. I’ve always liked that one very much. I know you made better pieces growing up, but I’ve always felt you made that one for me someway. Don’t tell me if it is not true, I don’t want to know it.”

“You’ve surely been my first commissioner,” he said smiling playfully and his mother seemed satisfied enough.

They remained in silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts, but then Grantaire remembered something he wanted to ask his mother.

“Mother, do you remember the story you used to tell us when we were children, about the fairies bringing something on the people’s faces?”

She seemed confused for a minute, but then her face opened in a warm smile.

“Yes, yes, of course. My aunt Ange would tell it to us every night when I was Antoinette’s age.”

“Would you tell it for me one more time, please?” He asked almost shyly. It had been ages since the last time he ever asked something like that to his mother. She probably found that request strange, too, but she didn’t refuse. She straightened up against her cushions, took Grantaire’s hands in her own and started telling.

“You must know, my lovely son, that every time a new-born smiles for the first time, a fairy is born somewhere in the world. Then, the duty of that young fairy is to find the baby that gave her life and deposit a special kiss on the side of the child’s lips. That is a really special kiss, my dear, it is a kiss that you can give away just once in your life and you can’t ever take it back because it’ll stay with the person you have gifted it forever. Being it so special, the kiss remains hidden until the moment it is about to be given, but you can notice it on the side of one lover’s lips when they are intent watching their own love: their face gets full of light and soft with tenderness, their eyes look surprised while their cheeks color with red and there, on the side of their mouth, you can glimpse at their special kiss.”

“This is really beautiful, mother,” Grantaire said when his mother fell silent and closed her eyes, probably tired after speaking for so long.

“I know. Aunt Ange told it at mine and your father’s marriage as a toast. It is very special to me.”

“You mean Jaques and Lizi’s father.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Aunt Ange told it at yours and Charles’ marriage, she wasn’t there at your second marriage, remember? She was in London at the time,” he reminded her slowly, the illness was really getting to her. She stared at him with confusion for a couple of seconds before starting to nod slowly.

“You’re right, I must have got confused,” she said, but then remained silent, watching melancholy the heavy curtains covering the windows.

“I’ve been to aunt Angelique’s tomb today,” Grantaire finally said when the silence became too much for him to bear. His mother turned to him again, this time there was a soft smile on her lips.

“Of course you did, my dear. You were his favorite, she wouldn’t have wanted me to say this, but it’s the truth. You were so similar: you were so curious and so energetic, you would drive me crazy, but aunt Ange would simply take you on her knees and tell you everything about stars and trees and art. I’d never seen you as peaceful as when aunt Ange was speaking to you, not that you would stay quiet, you’d ask hundreds of questions, but I have to say that you probably took that from me.”

“Yes, I remember. Father wasn’t particularly fond of that attitude of mine too.”

She waved a hand in the air dismissively.

“Marcus was hardly fond of anything.”

Why did you marry him then? He thought, but he didn’t say it. He had stopped asking that question to her a long time ago. Instead, he decided to bring the conversation back to aunt Angelique.

“She used to say I took after your father, aunt Ange I mean. Was it true?”

“Well, you know, your grandfather died when I was very little so I can’t confirm it with certainty, but I’ve seen enough paintings and drawings of him to tell you that you are surely similar and from what I’ve heard from my mother and my godparents you’re also very similar in character: both very argumentative and very logic, both very curious, both rebels in your own ways and both really good artists.”

“I’m not a good artist,” Grantaire protested.

“I’m sure he would have said the same,” she replayed with a sly smile. “I think this was another reason why aunt Ange was so fond of you, she and my father had been very affectionate friends before he died in the war, both she aunt Elizabeth actually.”

“She had been the only one to ever tell me about my likeness with my grandfather, you’ve never said anything before she arrived here. Why? Was it too painful?”

“No, no my dear, of course not. I’ve never felt more blessed than when I recognized my father’s eyes in yours, no, Marcus was the reason why I’ve never said anything, I knew he wouldn’t have liked to know how similar you were to my side of the family. Jaques and Lizi are so painfully similar to their own father, he wanted a son who looked like him, but I’ve never been able to give that to him.”

There was a moment of silence where both of them avoided the eyes of the other before Grantaire founded the courage to ask another question who had bothered him for years.

“Mother, do I remind you of father in any way?” He inquired, his voice slightly trembling, fearing terribly the answer his mother could give to him.

She raised her eyes upon his face and looked intently at him, a wistful expression on her tired face. Her hands moved from her lap to her son’s face and caressed his cheeks and his temples affectionately. It seemed as if she was weighing her answer. After some long and silent moments, her expression tensed, like she had just taken a difficult decision.

“You’re asking me if you remind me of your father?” She echoed with that same wistful expression of before.

“Yes, yes I did.”

She sighed.

“In your appearance, you and your father, are completely different. I would have loved to have given you something of your father, just to have something to point and say: you see? He’s still here with us. But that would have been egoistic, it wouldn’t have helped you or anyone else if you looked like your father instead of mine. God, though, must have decided to concede me a small blessing, because sometimes I look at you from across a room while you’re talking and having fun with your siblings and, more recently, with your friends and in the movement of a hand, in the small tilt of your head, in the way your fingers move swiftly in the air, I can see your father live on in you and it is the best gift I could have ever received.”

There it was, Grantaire thought shocked, the answer he had feared the most, not only he had something of his father, something he was now going to hate for the rest of his useless life, it was also something his mother loved in him. Maybe the only thing is mother truly loved in him.

He wanted to say something, anything instead of that heavy silence that had just fallen between the two of them, but he could not find in himself to utter even a handful of words out loud. He was only able to curse himself in his head for his damn curiosity and his stupid tongue, always moving when it should have been still.

Fortunately, it was his mother who decided to break the tense atmosphere. She closed her eyes and turned her back on him with a tired sound.

“Now I need to sleep, my dear. Leave me alone with my old woman’s dreams, they are not for a young man like you,” she said her voice muffled by the cushions and already heavy with sleep.

“Of course, mother. Let me just turn off these candles for you,” he said standing up and moving to get the snuffer from her nightstand.

“No, leave them lit. I don’t like the dark,” she stopped him. He nodded, even though his mother could probably not see him, and wished her good dreams before silently getting out of her room.

Marie was waiting for him outside.

“Lizi told me to come to rescue you,” she informed him, but then stopped suddenly in her tracks to regard him with a worried look. “Are you all right? What did she say to you?”

Grantaire sighed and passed a hand over his face with the hope to swipe away the probably disconcerted expression that must have worried his sister so much.

“She said I remind her of father,” he answered feeling the bitterness of every letter on his tongue. Marie’s reaction was quick: her eyes got bigger with surprise and her mouth produced a sound between a tsk and a grunt.

“You don’t look at all like father,” she commented with resolution.

“She wasn’t talking about my looks, but about my mannerisms.”

“Typical of mother, she probably thought it would cheer you up. Believe me, you didn’t take anything from father. If there is someone with that curse, it’s me.”

That was certainly true. It was difficult looking at Marie and not seeing, in her glinting green eyes and honey-colored hair and her high cheekbones, their father image. Even her voice and her movements would sometime remind them of him, not that anyone would be so stupid to let her know that.

Once, she had gotten so desperate to be less similar to him that she had shaved her whole head. As a result, she had been confined at home for six months and mother hadn’t been able to get up from her bed for two weeks.

“You once said to me that I reminded you of him.”

She moved to protest, but her words died on her lips. Her eyes lightened with realization and she gave a small nod.

“Unfortunately, I did. It was very cruel of me, I have to admit. I wanted to wound you and I knew where to hit at the time, I’m not so sure I would be able to do that now. You’re quite a different person. Anyway, there is no better scholar than me on father’s mannerisms and, mark my words, I’m the only one who inherited them. Angelique, sometimes, when she’s displeased, does a face that reminds me of him, but that’s it.”

“I don’t understand why mother should lie about that, then.”

“I told you, she probably thought it would make you happy, but she surely wasn’t sincere. She has never referred to you as Marcus child, certainly, she doesn’t think you two are similar.”

“What do you mean?” He asked confused by Marie’s words.

“She always refers to you as her third child while with me and Lili she’s always talking about Marcus’ daughters and of Charles’ children when talking about Lizi and Jaques.”

“I’ve never noticed,” he said in a distant tone. Thinking about that, she was actually right, his mother hardly ever referred to him as his father’s son. He didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You have no idea how much I envied you when we were younger,” she commented with a wink probably trying to lower the tension.

“Lili is the only one who took from mother,” he remarked trying to follow his sister's lead. Marie made a disapproving sound.

“We all took something from mother, a gesture, the way of smiling, a particular kind of laugh. Small things, but we all took from her. Lizi is the one more different from her which shouldn’t surprise me that much since she had to fill the role mother had never been able to do.”

“Did you know?”

“What?”

“That Lizi decided to marry instead to keep working because she knew she needed to take care of us.”

“Well, of course. Maybe not since the first moment, but growing up I understood. Did it never come up to you?”

Grantaire didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to say to that. He never even doubted his first impression, that was that Lizi had married to get away from the last ties that held her bound to their family. Marie watched him with a questioning look but didn’t press the problem.

She patted his cheek twice, in a show of affection of which Grantaire appreciated the effort, and changed argument.

“You know, I think now it’s time for you to go to the nursey. You’ll find something of your own liking,” she said with a malicious tone before starting leading him towards the children’s rooms.

The thing of his own liking in the nursery was Enjolras. He didn’t know why he still got surprised, it wasn’t as if all of his friends and siblings weren’t trying to kill him with embarrassment every other day.

From the scene in front of him, though, in that moment it was more probable that he would die of excessive affection than embarrassment: Enjolras was kneeling between Sylvie and Antoinette who were listening to him with complete rapture while he read them a story from one of their books. From a corner of the room, the nanny was looking at Enjolras with the same expression, not that Grantaire had nothing to reproach to her, he understood the sentiment.

Antoinette was the first to notice their presence, her face lightened and she sprinted up to run towards them happily, almost immediately followed by her older sister. Enjolras, finally, raised his eyes and looked at Grantaire with that face which reminded Grantaire of aunt Ange’s story about fairies. But now that he remembered what the story was about, he could not help but blush and remind himself it was all stupid wishful thinking.

“Aunt! Uncle! Did you see who came to visit?” Sylvie asked pointing happily in Enjolras’ direction.

“Enjolras, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Asked Marie with a tone that let it clearly understood that she knew exactly why he was there.

“I actually came here to talk to your brother, but your sister Elizabeth told me he was occupied with your mother and I preferred to wait for him to finish instead of intruding.”

“How thoughtful,” commented Marie with a sly smirk. “Isn’t your friend so thoughtful, Adrian?”

Grantaire ignored the question and turned his attention to Enjolras, quite a familiar gesture to be honest.

“Is it something the matter?”

“No, not at all, I was just sent to ask you your opinion on a convivial subject, but it can wait.”

“Mother’s resting right now and Lizi didn’t let me know if she needed me for anything else, so we can go talking about it somewhere a little more private maybe.”

“But Enjolras promised us to go visiting the library with us!” Protested Antoinette gripping her uncle’s sleeve tightly.

“Nani, we can go another time all together,” he said kindly but firm, Lizi was right when she said that he spoiled them too much, it was becoming more and more difficult to refuse them something.

“I don’t see where the problem is. Vivi and Nani can show Enjolras the library and you can talk on your way there, I’m sure our lovely nieces will be well-behaved enough not to eavesdrop,” Marie intervened with an innocent tone.

“I don’t think it would be very…”

“Oh, please, uncle Adrian! Please, please, please!” His nieces interrupted him in unison pulling with insistence at his clothes.

“For me, it’s not a problem, R, really,” Enjolras said clearly suppressing an amused smile.

“All right then, lead us to the library, little harpies,” conceded Grantaire with a defeated sigh.

The library was on the opposite side of the house and give Enjolras the chance to admire more of the enormous Grantaire’s Manor. Grantaire caught him hiding a smile while they were descending a decidedly not necessary marble staircase with golden handrail.

“Do you find the display of bourgeoisie richness funny, oh fair leader?” He asked him a low voice to avoid attracting his nieces’ attention.

“I usually don’t, but I happen to find this particular display quite amusing indeed.”

“How’s that?” Enjolras turned his face to him and smiled enigmatically.

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you with new clothes in months, Louison is always complaining that you keep buying wine on credit at the Musain, you’re always asking Joly for money and at least once a month I have to hear another story of how you’ve been thrown out by your landlady. Then I come here and I discover this,” he said while gesturing towards a tapestry picturing a medieval hunting trip.

“I told father that one was a bit too much just for the hallway,” Grantaire commented sarcastically. He wasn’t sure where Enjolras was going with that speech and he would have lied if he said he wasn’t worried.

“I mean,” continued Enjolras as if Grantaire hadn’t said anything. “I knew you had means, you are paying your studies, after all. Well, I presumed it at least.”

“You never asked,” Grantaire noted not without a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“I didn’t want to meddle into your affairs. You made clear more than once that you don’t appreciate me asking you personal questions.”

“What are you even talking about now?” Inquired Grantaire surprised.

“Every time I ask something your answers are so vague and confusing and, to be honest, I’ve had often the impression that you were making fun of me.”

“That is not… I wasn’t… You don’t have to pay attention to what I say. I’m an idiot and I’m drunk most of the time anyway.”

“Unfortunately, I have no way to refute the drunk part, but I’ll strongly object to you being an idiot,” Enjolras affirmed with a hard expression that almost knocked Grantaire’s breath out of his lungs. He didn’t know how to respond at that so he waited to be able to breathe again and then changed the subject.

“So, tell me, what did you come here to ask me?”

“Ah, yes, you’re right. The others and I wanted to return your dinner invitation and have you as guests this evening at Bahorel’s house, but your sister Angelique mentioned your mother’s worsening illness this afternoon and we didn’t want to make an unwelcome invitation. So, Courfeyrac sent me to ask your opinion on this matter.”

“I’m sure mother would love to be invited at Bahorel’s house and this exactly why it would be a terrible idea. She needs to rest and stay in bed. An outing would surely do her no good.”

“I imagined. I would love to pay my visit to her one more time, though. She is a lovely woman.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire said shaking his head slowly.

“But I’d love to, she surely had an interesting life to talk about.”

Grantaire stopped Enjolras grabbing his wrist firmly. He couldn’t help but blush at the contact with Enjolras’ cold skin but forced himself to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t want you to consider this another of your heroic causes,” he hissed to him and watched Enjolras beautiful eyes grew wide with shock.

“What do you mean with heroic causes?” He asked freeing his arm with a firm shake.

Before Grantaire could answer and probably bring upon himself the wrath of the fearless leader, Sylvie interrupted them with an impatient look.

“Are you ready uncle Enjolras? The library is right here,” she asked while pointing to the heavy mahogany door in front of them.

“More than ready,” Enjolras answered turning his surprised expression in a kinder and warmer one in the span of a second.

The library was the only place in the whole house that didn’t seem to have been designed by a failed ancient Greece architect in his gold phase. Probably because it was the only part of the house Grantaire’s father never really cared about. It had been built by the first generation of Grantaire living in the Manor and it had been fallen quite in disuse before Grantaire’s mother had started living there, she had been the one to insist that it ought to be modernized with the rest of the house and then she had been the one to ask Aunt Angelique to widen the books collection.

Grantaire loved it.

“This is the history section and that is the religion section, uncle Jaques insisted to expand it,” Sylvie was explaining while leading a very amused, and also a little amazed, Enjolras by the hand. “And this is the philosophy section. This is what you’re studying, right?”

Enjolras nodded, but his attention was already all on the books that covered the entire wall. He caressed their backs with a raptured expression, murmuring the titles as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

“This is quite the collection,” he commented finally raising his eyes to Grantaire’s.

“It is. Aunt Angelique is responsible for it,” Grantaire answered and couldn’t help a little smile at the thought that Enjolras knew who she was, that Enjolras had accepted that little secret of his life and he was guarding it as if it was as precious as it was for Grantaire.

“Not our aunt Angelique! Grandmother’s aunt Angelique,” Antoinette specified. “Aunt Lili was called after her.”

“So I’ve been told,” said Enjolras looking at Grantaire amused. “She seemed a quite incredible aunt.”

The two girls nodded with a serious expression.

“She was the cleverest person in England and she came here to become the cleverest person in France,” explained Antoinette excitedly. “And because she was so clever, they asked her to go to Greece to convince people that it needed to be an independent country.”

“Did your aunt fight in Greece’s independence war?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“She went there to help the cause, not to fight. They told us she got sick on the ship to get there, we never got to see her again.” Grantaire answered in a clipped voice.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Enjolras noted in a low tone, his hand still froze on the back of some book. There was a strange light in his eyes as if he was putting together pieces of a particoulary difficult puzzle which was the exact reason why Grantaire hadn't told him how aunt Ange died.

“It wasn’t important,” he replied in a dismissive tone.

“She was a Republican, that’s why grandfather didn’t like her,” Sylvie said with a conspiratorial voice.

“Who told you that?” Asked Grantaire disapproving. Not that the child was wrong, but the world republican wasn’t exactly one waved around in his family.

“Aunt Lili did and she says that you are too,” replied his niece in a challenging tone. Enjolras had to disguise his laugh with a cough.

“Aunt Lili had barely Eliane’s age when aunt Angelique died, she knows nothing. And in regard to my own political opinion, I have been told, from a quite valuable source, that I don’t have one.”

“I’m sure that source is still hoping to been proved wrong,” Enjolras said with that smile again, the fairy’s smile.

It could not be, Grantaire repeated to himself, he was just projecting. Maybe it simply was Enjolras’ normal smile which Grantaire saw so rarely he now thought could be something special.

“Is there something that got your attention?” Grantaire asked in lieu of replying to Enjolras comment pointing to the books.

“As I already told you, it’s an impressive collection, but it sounds hard to believe that your aunt could have had such a passionate political opinion seeing that there are not a lot of books on political philosophy.”

“Of course there are,” Grantaire exclaimed almost offended on his aunt behalf. He approached Enjolras near the shelves and started looking for the familiar titles until he felt someone pulling on his shirt sleeves.

“They are probably in Adrian’s section,” Sylvie told him after successfully attracting his attention.

“The what now?” He inquired confused.

“Did mum never tell you? She made a section near your favorite chair with all your favorite books so you won’t keep leaving them laying around,” the child answered already sprinting out of the philosophy section.

And there they were, beside his favorite chair in the space between the large window and the floor, three shelves with all of his favorite books on it and a silver target with engraved the words Adrian’s section.

“This is the reason why I regret never having a sibling, I don’t have any loving sister doing this for me,” Enjolras said while reading with interests the titles of the book. “You weren’t joking when you said you’ve read all of Robespierre’s speeches.”

“I told you, I’m never mocking you,” he answered sitting on the chair still shocked by that little discovering. “Girls, why don’t you go choosing a book for me to read to you this evening before going to bed?”

The two children nodded with enthusiasm and run away between the shelves.

“You don’t seem quite happy about your sister’s gift,” Enjolras commented and sat on the edge of the other chair so that he could be the closest possible to Grantaire, their knees almost touching.

“I don’t understand why she did it. I told her more than once that it was not my intention to come back here, the only reason why I broke that promise is mother’s illness and there won’t be another reason to do that. Why did build something for me that she knew I wasn’t going to use and why did keep it a secret?”

“I don’t have the answers to those question, my friend, I’m sorry,” Enjolras said shaking his head.

“I don’t have them neither. It’s just… since I arrived it seems as if everyone is keeping giving me answers to questions I’ve never asked before and then ignoring me when I start to ask the questions those answers elicit from me. It’s like I know nothing about my family as if my time spent here was all a convoluted lie. I can’t do this anymore.” He felt his voice breaking. His hands were shaking at his sides and his vision was blurry for the tears forming in his eyes. “I need something to drink,” he whimpered trying to cover his face with his shaking hands.

It was as if all the insecurities, the tiredness, the tension and the sadness of the previous weeks were hitting him in that moment. He had never longed so much for the dark embrace of drunkenness in his whole life.

Suddenly, there were hands over his own prying them open and holding them tenderly. Enjolras had kneeled beside the chair and he was stroking the back on his left hand in a soothing movement while his free hand dried the tears falling from Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire was shocked into silence, he couldn’t comprehend what it was happening.

In his mind, Enjolras would have been disgusted by his need for alcohol and would have recoiled away from him, maybe also suggesting to get a grip over himself. Instead, he was there, reassuring him, near him, his blue eyes filled with worry. He was so close that if Grantaire had just bent slightly over he could have pressed his lips on his fine brow.

“R, you’re clearly not well. Tell me what do you need to feel better,” he said and it felt almost like an order. He had that focused expression of his, his eyes glinting, his lips in a tight line, he was painfully beautiful like that. Grantaire could notice it even in his agitated mood.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered and it sounded like a plea.

“I’m not going anywhere, R. I’m here. I’ll be here all the time you need,” he took one of his hand and rested it on his own chest, over his heart. “Breath with me, R, can you do that for me?”

Grantaire nodded and gave him a small smile, how Enjolras could still not know that he would have done anything, even the impossible, for him?

He closed his eyes focusing on Enjolras’ breath pattern. In and out, in and out.

“You’re doing great,” Enjolras told him and cupped his cheek with his free hand stroking gently with his thumb just under his eye. Grantaire leaned into the touch and sighed, it all felt still too much surreal to be really happening but at the moment he didn’t care.

That perfect instant was broken by someone coughing. Grantaire immediately opened his eyes fearing that Sylvie and Antoinette could have come back and watched him shattering which was the last thing he wanted at that moment. But instead of his nieces’ lovely faces, he saw the elegant figure of his older sister.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said in a cold tone fixing her eyes on Enjolras.

The young man had quickly stood up, but he had stayed beside Grantaire and he had kept a hand on his shoulder holding it kindly but firmly. He’s doing it because you asked him to stay, Grantaire’s mind reasoned making him warm with affection.

“Of course not, Lizi. Is there something you need?” He asked, his voice was still coarse for the tears but he sounded composed enough not to alarm his sister.

“It’s almost time for supper. I came here to fetch my daughters, you may happen to know where they could be?” She asked with a sarcastic voice which sounded a little bit too cold for Grantaire’s comfort. The tears had blurred his vision before, but in that moment, he could observe his sister expression more attentively and he noticed the same expression of displeasure she had worn during the tea with Angelique’s fiancé.

“They’re searching for a book to read before going to bed. They’ll be here any minute now,” he answered slowly trying not to aggravate Lizi’s bad mood.

Right on cue, the girls came back excitedly shouting towards their mother of how happy they were to have shown the library to uncle Enjolras and asking if he could stay for dinner.

“Thank you, my dears, but it’ll be better if I go back to the town. My friends are surely waiting for me to eat and your grandmother needs rest. I’ll see you again soon, I promise,” Enjolras said smiling kindly at the children. He turned his attention back to Grantaire looking at him with an inquiring expression: he was asking the other man permission to go. Grantaire nodded once with all the conviction he could muster. Something was telling him that if Enjolras doubted even slightly of his resolution, he would have found a way to stay at his side and Grantaire didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

With a last goodbye to the girls and a thank you to Lizi, Enjolras took his leave, but not before glancing briefly to Grantaire one more time.

“Girls, why don’t you start to go to get ready for supper? There is something I’d like to discuss with your uncle before joining you.”

Sylvie and Antoinette nodded and raced to the door laughing carefree. Lizi and Grantaire stared at each other in silence until the echo of their steps was lost to their hears. Then Lizi spoke.

“Did I need to find a chaperone for you too now?” She asked in a glacial tone.

“What are you talking about?”

“That Enjolras. Is he your lover?” She responded pronouncing Enjolras’ name as if it was a piece of food which had remained stuck between her teeth. Grantaire had to put a lot of effort into not blurting in a bitter laugh.

“Believe me, he is not.”

“He is not good news, Adrian. I can tolerate you being his friend, but implicate yourself with him in any other way won’t do you any good,” She went on completely ignoring his answer.

“You can tolerate me being his friend? What does give you the right to judge with whom I implicate myself in any way?” Grantaire asked irritated by such presumption from his sister. He loved her and he was more than happy to still have her in his life, but she had no right to spit sentences over his choices.

“I’m your sister, my task is to help you get a long and happy life, something that that Enjolras of yours will surely not provide to you.”

“You don’t know anything about him or about my life,” he snapped at her angrily. She recoiled at those words and her lips formed a hard line.

“I have enough experience in life to know where happiness is,” she finally said in a calmer tone than before.

“Does it happen to have something to do with building my own personal shelves in this library?” He asked still stung by Lizi’s earlier words.

“Don’t you like it?”

“That is beside the point, Lizi. I told you it was not my intention to return to this house.” She lowered her gaze guilty and bit his lip nervously before replying.

“I know you said that, but it has been some time that I hoped to convince you to make a home for yourself here.”

“Are you joking? I hated this house! We, we hated this house, Lizi. All of us. How can you even think that I could ever desire to live here?”

“I just thought… I thought you could transform this house from your father’s house to yours. Fill it with new memories, with happiness and with joy and with your family.”

“My family is you in Arles and my friends in Paris. There is nothing for me here.”

She shook her head.

“Adrian, my dear brother,” she started coming near him and taking his hands in hers tenderly. “A man needs a family to be happy. His own family and his own house and this is why I kept this one all these years, why I kept coming here every summer to maintaining it alive. This could be a nice place to start for you.”

“Oh God, Lizi, do you even hear yourself?” Grantaire asked incredulously.

“No, you’re the one not hearing. I don’t know what are you doing with your studies at the moment, and frankly, I don’t care, you’re an adult and you’re responsible for that. But soon you’ll inherit your father’s business and either you’ll leave it to me and Philippe to administrate like mother’s doing or you’ll decide to administrate it yourself won’t change the fact that you’ll be financially independent and stable. You could come back here, renovate the house, live near me and the girls, find a good wife, having children. We could make them play with my daughters, wouldn’t that be nice? Whatever life you’re conducting now in Paris is a perfect life for a young student, but you’re not going to be one forever. And when that day will come, I want you to have the easiest path towards a happy life.”

Grantaire stared at her in complete disbelief. He had been such an idiot believing that Lizi could accept him for who he was, that she could be proud of him for the choices he had already made for himself.

“That is the life you chose for yourself and you know what? I’m not even that sure it’s making you happy, what does make you think it could make me happy?” He said coldly before raising from his chair and march with determination out of the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so, I know I said I was going to publish this last Monday, but (ah!) I forgot that that Monday was going to be Christmas's eve and of course I wouldn't have been ready with the chapter around Christmas cause I got a really big family to give my attention too, sorry.   
> Anyway, I finally made it, there it is the 7th chapter (7th! Can you believe it? I can't). As always, I hope you liked it and if you did let me know in the comments or come to say hi on my tumblr [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (as already stated I'm working on another project, I should be able to respect the every two Monday schedule since the Christmas period is over, but if I can't, I'll let you know. If you like what I write go check my profile in the next days, I'll start to publish my new story)


	8. It becomes clear some secrets have been hidden, but some truths are finally exposed to the light

There was someone knocking at the door of his bedroom. Whoever they were, Grantaire was going to murder them. 

“Go away!” He exclaimed his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“R, you promised me you were going to make me do a tour of the gardens and the light at this time of the day is perfect,” protested the disembodied voice of Jehan from outside the door.

“Prouvaire, you’re a poet, not a painter, you don’t need perfect light,” Grantaire reminded him even though he had already forced his feet on the cold floor. He knew that Jehan could win whatever argument when he wanted to.

“Light, my dear friend, it’s the nourishment of the soul. A poet needs it as much as a painter.” 

“Still not a good enough excuse to wake me up at this devilish hour in the morning,” Grantaire noted opening the door.

“R, it’s eight o’clock, not the crack of dawn.” 

“You must be wrong, my dear friend, I could have sworn that I felt the rose-coated fingers of Eos caress my cheeks just a few seconds ago.” 

“You would be so lucky to have the luminous Hyperion’s daughter in your bed,” Jehan snorted but he had an amused smile on his face. 

“She’s not the offspring of rightful Hyperion and bright Theia whose embrace I long for,” Grantaire reminded him with a wink, but at those words, Jehan’s face darkened and his smile dimmed. 

“You ought to stop speaking of Enjolras in that manner. He doesn’t like it.” 

“You’re the one who’s mentioned our fair leader, not me.” 

“R.” 

Grantaire laughed at the expression on his friend’s face while starting to change into something more appropriate for strolling in the gardens. 

“I don’t understand the point in starting to worry about this only now, I speak about Enjolras in this way since the day my mortal eyes fell upon his celestial features,” he commented while fighting with a pair of trousers.

“Things have changed since then,” Jehan noted in a sweet voice. 

“He’s being nice to meet just because he feels sorry for me, the moment we’ll be back in Paris and I’ll be back to my absinthe everything will go back to normal and you’ll have no reason to worry anymore.” 

Jehan sighed shaking his head, he sounded sad in some way and Grantaire could really not figure out why.

“This is not what I meant,” he explained while offering him his suspenders that Grantaire had left on the floor the night before.

“Don’t worry, you can stop the act, Louison already told me about your hidden plan.”

“I have no idea of what you’re talking about, my friend,” Jehan said and, Grantaire had to give him that, he sounded actually confused. 

“You’re a better liar than I thought. I’m talking about yours and Louison’s plan to keep me away from Enjolras, you’re doing a terrible job, I must say.” 

By then, Grantaire was ready to go and the two of them got out of the room and started descending the main staircase. 

“Is this what Louise told you we’re trying to do?” Jehan asked worried. 

“With no doubt.” 

“Well, this is why I prefer not to give Louise the task of talking about sentimental matters, it is really not her venue.” 

“What does this mean?” 

Jehan opened his mouth to explain, but he was interrupted by Jaques shouting something somewhere near them.

“Isn’t that your brother’s voice?” Jehan asked worriedly. 

“It sure is. It must come from the drawing room. I’ll better go and try to avoid another shouting match between him and Lizi,” Grantaire said in a tired tone while approaching the drawing room. The door was slightly ajar permitting the voices to travel loud and clear to the two young men. Grantaire had his hand on the handle when he realized they were talking about him and he suddenly froze on the spot.

“I do not keep defending him!” Lizi protested indignantly. 

“Yes, you do. You are, for one, completely dismissing his alcohol and gambling problem,” her brother insisted with some urgency. 

Lizi huffed.

“That’s because you see a problem where there is not: he is young and he’s having fun in the capital as every other young man of his age.”

“I don’t understand if you’re really blind or if you’ve just decided to close your eyes. Do you know he can’t sleep since he stopped drinking? He nearly punched me when he discovered I locked mother’s bottles away.”

“Not so surprising, I want to punch you now,” Lizi commented in a voice that sounded almost menacing. 

“And did you know he asked me for money two times last month?” 

At that Lizi remained quiet. Grantaire felt a sense of guilt washing over him like a wave. He had no problem asking Jaques for money, but the idea of Lizi knowing about that made him always feel slightly sick, probably because he didn’t want to let her know how much of a failure and embarrassment he was. 

Grantaire felt Jehan’s hand on his shoulder, he turned towards his friend and noticed the inquiring look on the young poet’s face. He was asking what Grantaire’s intentions were. He didn’t know. He knew it was wrong to spy on his siblings, but at the same time, he could not ignore the feeling that they were keeping something from him, something he wanted to know with all his might. He gave Jehan an apologetic expression and turned his attention back to the fight, hoping that Jehan would take it as the invitation to stay that it was. 

“I thought so,” Jaques gloated after the silence of his sister had made her answer clear enough. “And those friends of him, all traitors and conspirators. What do you think that kind of friendships will bring him? Jail or, even worst, death and despite knowing this well you invite them here and you let them inside our family and you encourage him to seek their company as if he hadn’t enough problems besides this sickening dependence from them.” 

“This is so typical of you: confusing friendship with some kind of disease. It is not our fault if you’ve never had a friend in your whole life.” 

“Please, Elizabeth, don’t become childish. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice his obsession with… what is his name again? Enjolras, right.”

“That is nothing of your businesses,” Lizi stated icily. 

It is not your father business whose affection your longing for, Lizi had once told him, many years before. Even then, when Grantaire was old enough to defend himself, she was still protecting him fiercely. He didn’t know what he did to deserve a sister like that. He shivered at the thought of what he had said to her the day before. She didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect, especially not from him.

“Yes, yes, it is, if this is the reason while I’ll have to bury my brother. And you should be concerned too,” Jaques pressed in an almost accusatory tone. 

“Adrian is not like that,” she protested vehemently. 

“How can you say that? Is it only because he doesn’t wave his political opinions under your nose? Have you forgotten what kind of blood runs in his veins?” 

“Lower your voice,” ordered Lizi hastily. “Someone could hear you.” 

“And what then? I’m fed up keeping mother’s shameful secrets, you know that lying is a sin, right?”

“It is not shameful. It is a necessary secret. She was married, when it happened, in the eyes of your precious God.”

“But keeping it hidden from him…”

“Was the right thing to do.” 

“Well, go on then, keep building this ivory tower around him, keep telling him that everything is all right, that he is doing everything perfectly, that it was mother’s fault or Marcus’ fault. Parade him around twice a year when he’s not drunk and dressed with clothes you chose for him as if that was your real brother and not some pale copy of himself and when he will not choose the life you’re trying to impose on him, convince yourself it was all you could do while you retrieve his lifeless body from some firing squad.” 

“I’m fed up, Jaques. Fed up!” Lizi shouted indignant at the end of her brother’s speech. “I sacrificed almost everything for this family: Philippe was ready to wait for me to go on with my career before marriage, but, no, oh no, I had to marry to provide a second family to my siblings because they needed to escape. And when Marcus died who did tend to mother? I did. And who did take care of the house? I did. And still, despite everything, any time you need to put the blame on someone you put it on me: Marie’s fleeing, Angelique’s engagement and now whatever you’re trying to accuse Adrian of. I’m sick of it, Jaques.” 

“Whatever I’m trying to accuse him of? Oh, for the Lord’s sake, Elizabeth, for once in your life stop playing the martyr and actually try to make a good job of helping our family.” 

“Get out. Get out of here now,” she ordered him with finality. 

“No, I’m not finished yet but if you want to go away, I won’t stop you.”

“Now you listen to me, you ungrateful bother, I was here taking care of this house and of our mother while you were traveling around furthering your career so I get to decide who has to leave a room and besides, I’m the six months pregnant woman: if I tell you, you’re the one who has to move, you are the one who has to move.” 

In the room reigned silence for some long seconds and then, without any warning, Jaques Alexandre stormed off with a dark expression on his face. Grantaire and Jehan had to kneel behind a dresser to not be seen. The moment his brother’s silhouette disappeared up the stairs Grantaire stood up and swiftly entered in the living room. His sister was still there, slouched on an armchair, one arm around her belly the other over her face. She seemed so tired. 

“Lizi, is everything all right?” He asked her approaching. 

“Adrian! How long have you been here?” She inquired instead of replying uncovering her face and trying to straighten up.

“I just arrived," Grantaire lied. "I was showing the gardens to Prouvaire. You seem quite unwell, Lizi.” 

“Oh, it is nothing, my dear. Just another quarrel with our bother,” she said dismissing the subject with a shrug. 

“You shouldn’t stress so much in your condition. Let me take you in your bedroom so you can rest for a while before lunch.” 

Elizabeth moved to protest but Grantaire stopped her.

“Before you say anything let me remember you that you’re doing it for the baby, not for yourself.” 

Elizabeth let a long sigh escape from her lips and nodded. She was asleep even before her head touched the pillow. 

“How is she?” Asked Jehan the moment Grantaire stepped out form his sister's bedroom.

“She’ll be fine. She’s just too agitated, between mother, the pregnancy and Jaques always vexing her, it’s a miracle she can still stand up at all.” 

Jehan nodded understanding. They both remained still in silence for a while before Jehan decided to talk again. 

“And how are you?” He asked raising his eyes to meet the ones of his friends with a concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire lied starting to walk away from Lizi’s bedroom.

“R, what you have just heard… you must be at least confused.” 

“There is nothing to be confused about, my siblings are keeping a secret from me, but that I already knew.”

“Don’t you think it should be the case to confront them about it?” Jehan suggested following him. 

“It would be of no use. If Lizi decided she’s not going to tell me, she will not tell me and for how much Jaques yells and protests, he trusts Lizi’s judgment, he won’t do anything that she would disapprove of.” 

“Would you at least admit that this upsets you?” Jehan pressed.

“The only thing that upset me is the men’s willingness to consecrate their lives to anything that is not love or liberty. It’s not my interest to participate in my siblings’ charade of family secrets, I had enough of that when I lived under this roof, at the time there were enough shadows and whisperers to transform this house in the Hades.” 

“R.”

Grantaire sighed tiredly and stopped to look at his friend.

“Prouvaire, please, I do not wish to speak about this matter any longer.” 

Jehan seemed intended to go on, but the sincere look in Grantaire’s eyes persuaded him to desist. 

“All right, my friend, it is not my place to tell you how to behave with your family.”

“Thank you. Now, I thought you had some interest in visiting the gardens.” 

Jehan smiled at the suggestion and the two of them left arm in arm. 

It was only after the sun had reached his highest point in the sky and Grantaire had founded some excuses not skip lunch with the rest of the family that he actually let Lizi and Jaques’ words sink in. 

That was the reason why he found himself perched on one of the stone benches in the gardens, his face between his hands and a sealed bottle of cognac in front of him. He couldn’t have said how long he had been sitting there and he startled when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. For an instant, he was worried one of his nieces had found him and he didn’t turn around in the hope to conceal the bottle of liquor from her sight, but it was soon clear that the steps, albeit light, couldn’t be the ones of a child. Grantaire decided to turn with the intention to send away whoever had come to better his mood, but he remained speechless when he saw Enjolras approaching. 

The young men looked even more angelical in the golden light of the early afternoon and it almost seemed that the roses of the garden were trying to reach him and crown him with their soft petals. Grantaire’s hands itched to paint him, but it was vain thinking and quickly squashed the thought in the back of his mind. 

“Enjolras, who of the sons of Aeolus brings you here to disturb my contemplation of the infinite?” He asked gesturing towards the hedge in front of him, fully aware his friend was going to miss both of his references. 

“I came to inquire how were you feeling after your, uhm, breakdown yesterday. Your sister Marie told me you were probably hiding here,” Enjolras answered sitting beside him on the bench. “Are you planning on opening that?” He added pointing at the bottle.

Grantaire grinned and gave a half-felted laugh. 

“The plan when I retrieved it from Philippe’s secret stash was to open it, of course. When I arrived here though, I kept fearing one of my nieces could see me inebriated and I’m still trying to find the courage to actually go through with this. Can you believe? I’m a coward even when confronted with the only thing I’m good at: drinking until I meet the bittersweet embrace of Morpheus.” 

Enjolras shook his head disapprovingly. 

“Drinking is hardly the only thing you’re good at. And it takes a lot of courage to decide to be a good example for the ones you love.” 

“But it’s all a lie, isn’t it? Me being sober, you worrying about me, us being a functional family, all a lie.” 

“Me worrying about you it’s not a lie,” Enjolras commented after some long seconds of tense silence. “I worry about you all the time.”

“Your mind is too full with the suffering of the people to concern itself with some foolish subjects like my well-being.” 

“My mind can concern itself with more than one subject and the well-being of my friends has never come second to anything.” 

Grantaire made a non-committed sound, incapable to find an answer to those words and what they must have meant. Enjolras was watching in front of him, towards the same hedge Grantaire had pointed before, like he was contemplating a complicated text. The light of the southern sun made his hair glistening and his skin glow almost golden. He looked breathtakingly beautiful and serious as always, but also soft and young and loving and Grantaire became once again aware of how much he ached for the affection of that unattainable man. 

“Enjolras?” 

“Yes?”

“May I paint you?”

Enjolras did not answer and did not move. He remained still and silent for long seconds, long enough to let Grantaire reconsider every action he had ever made that had led to that moment, that very horrible moment when he had quite obviously shattered what little sympathy Enjolras might have felt towards him with his inappropriate and creepy requests. 

“I’d be honored to let you paint me, Grantaire,” Enjolras answered finally stealing all of Grantaire’s breath. 

“What?” He croaked, completely sure that he must have heard wrong. 

“I said I’d be honored to let you paint me, but maybe you were just jesting,” Enjolras repeated blushing slightly and that reaction made the itch in Grantaire’s hands even stronger. 

“I wasn’t jesting,” he hurried to reassure him. “I was simply surprised that you accepted.” 

Enjolras shook his head, a shy smile slowly making his way on his face.

“It has been a while that I… I wanted, uhm, I know you ask Prouvaire and Musichetta to be your models sometime and I’ve been wondering what it must be like to model. For you.” 

He added the last words in a whisper so light Grantaire thought he had imagined it, but the expression on Enjolras’ face let almost no room for doubt. 

“You should have asked. You must know by now that there is nothing I would deny you.” 

Enjolras turned completely towards him, a small smile dancing at the edge of his lips. 

“Nothing?” He asked with a small laugh, his eyes glinting with mirth. 

“Nothing. My life’s yours, Enjolras,” Grantaire answered with all the seriousness he could muster. 

He needed Enjolras to believe that. He may have thought he was useless, and he was probably right, but he had to understand how important he was to Grantaire. Maybe, just maybe, if he understood that, he was going to give more importance to his own life and don’t throw it away in the attempt to better a word which didn’t care about him. Not as much as Grantaire cared. 

“Don’t say things like that,” Enjolras said, his expression darkening, but his eyes remained fixed on Grantaire’s face with almost unbearable focus. 

“It’s the simple truth.” 

“Well, if your life belongs to me, I can dispose of it as I want and I want to give it back to you. I’m not the master of anyone’s life.” 

“This is not one of your philosophical debate, Enjolras. This is simply how things are. Why do you accept our friends’ lives so carelessly, but can’t bear to accept mine?”

Enjolras got up suddenly and faced the hedge, his arms folded in front of him. 

“Our friends didn’t pledge their lives to me, but to the cause. I couldn’t… I can’t even imagine asking someone to die for me.” Came his clipped response directed to the leaves in front of him instead that to Grantaire’s face. 

“You can bear the weight of the happiness of a whole nation, but not the devotion of one man,” commented Grantaire shooking his head with a tone of mild disbelief. 

“You’re comparing two completely different things. Besides, the happiness of France does not weight on my shoulders. Unfortunately, it weighs on the shoulders of a king and one day, hopefully, sooner rather than later, it’ll weight on the shoulders of the French people.” 

His words resonated clear and powerful in the calm and warm afternoon air. He had turned to pin Grantaire down with his bright eyes, Grantaire wouldn’t have found strange to see him burst into flames with the strength of his passion. 

“You say you don’t want men to die for you and still talk like that,” Grantaire said out of breath, his eyes burning under the force of Enjolras’ stare. 

The young leader lowered his eyes and passed a hand over his face tiredly. 

“I don’t understand half of the things you say,” he revealed. 

“You say that often.” 

“Because you confuse me often.” 

“I aim to please.”

“But you hardly hit the mark.” 

“Probably a change of setting would help me aim better at pleasure, a more intimate place maybe. Like a bedroom,” Grantaire said in a much lighter tone, letting his eyebrows raised in an almost comically suggestive way. Enjolras scoffed but there was a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Are you flirting with me, Grantaire?” 

Grantaire brought his hands over his heart with an expression of mock disbelief. 

“Who thought you what flirting is?” He asked instead of answering. There had been enough truths for just one day. 

“I know what flirting is," answered Enjolras offended. "And Courfeyrac takes great pleasure in pointing out to me every time someone tries it on me.” 

“Every time?” Grantaire asked worriedly. 

“Well, only when he’s crossed with me and wants to embarrass me as revenge and, fortunately, it doesn’t happen that much often. I have to say, in his defense, that when he’s crossed with me, I usually deserve that.” 

Grantaire laughed at that and had the pleasure to observe Enjolras’ face open in a beautiful smile. 

“So, you said you wanted to paint me, did you change your mind?” The young leader said, a soft smile still brightening his face, but there was a light blush creeping up his neck and a sort of shyness in his blue eyes.

“I did not,” Grantaire answered returning the soft smile and then stood up. “Follow me, oh fair Apollo.” 

Enjolras scoffed, but didn’t protest and accepted the arm Grantaire offered him in a burst of braveness. 

They remained silent while crossing the gardens. Enjolras seem absorbed in his own thoughts and Grantaire was too intent not to stare at him. Enjolras was the one to break the silence with a sound of surprise when, instead to lead them inside the house, Grantaire took a sharp turn towards the wood that surrounded the propriety. 

“Where are we going?” He asked confused while throwing glances at the imposing house behind them.

“To my studio,” Grantaire answered with a smirk. 

“In the middle of the wood?” Enjolras pressed unsure. 

Grantaire nodded. 

“Father would have never allowed me to paint in the house, but mother had a soft spot for this interest of mine. Now that I think about it, it must have been because it reminded her of her father, well, anyway, she built a studio for me outside the house, in secret and far enough for father to never walk on it by chance. He never discovered it.”

“Your mother seems very thoughtful,” Enjolras commented eliciting a grunt from Grantaire. 

“She was not. To her, father could do no wrong and anyway she was too ill most of the time to spare some thoughts to her children. She only cared when we did something she was interested in. And I think she enjoyed the secrecy to some level or, at least, the atmosphere of adventure. She grew up in two pretty political and eventful families, I’ve always had the impression she was rather bored down here.” 

“Something you have in common if I’m not wrong.” 

Grantaire waved a hand in the air dismissively. 

“She stayed, though, I guess she enjoyed father’s money too much.” 

“She was a mother of five children with no means in her possession to provide for you and she had to take into account her constant illness. I don’t think your mother had your freedom in making her own choices.” 

Grantaire stopped and retrieved his arm from Enjolras’ light hold.

“I know that,” he hissed. “Don’t try to teach me my family history. I know she had no choice but to stay with him. But you don’t… you weren’t there.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, that was out of place,” Enjolras apologized pressing a calming hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire shook his head. 

“It’s all right,” he said attempting to be cheerful once again. “It doesn’t matter. What about you, though? How’s your relationship with your parents? You almost never talk about them.” 

Enjolras shrugged while resuming walking at his friend’s side. 

“Everything’s fine. They’re kind of distant. They love me, I know that, it’s just that, uhm, well, I also know that they didn’t want to have children. I was an accident. My mother always says it was the best accident it could have happened to them, but still, they were not ready to be parents and they never understood really well how to become ones.” 

“It sounds sad.”

“It wasn’t, believe me. It was just strange. Not that at the time I could have known that, for me, that was how parents behave. It wasn’t until they became friend with Courfeyrac’s family and I started spending some time with them that I understood that we were a little weird.” 

Grantaire had to stiffen a laugh.

“You went from sad to amused a little too quickly,” Enjolras reprimanded him, but it was clear he was holding a smile too. 

“It’s just so funny imagining your younger self slowly realizing that bright and bubbly young Courfeyrac wasn’t the strange one, you were.” 

“It was kind of a shock, really, learning that families usually talk at dinner instead of each reading their own book.” 

At that Grantaire could not hold it in anymore and he stopped again in his tracks to double over with the force of his laughter.

“I should have known that it would have taken making fun of me to take your smile back,” Enjolras commented trying to sound bitter and only managing to sound smug.

“Heavens, I can’t believe you! How old were you? Six? What kind of book were you reading at six?” Grantaire asked amidst his laughter.

“I’ll let you know that my father bought me my first Rousseau for my fifth birthday and I was quite an avid reader.” 

“I had no doubt you would be. So it was your father who started you on the path of republicanism? I would have never guessed.” 

“He’s always been very interested in the subject, he read a lot, he brought a lot of changes in his factories to the benefit of the workers. Also, having my uncle bought that printer shop in Paris both him and my father became a lot more vocal about their dislike of the crown.”

“And your mother?” 

“Mother was, and still is, a socialite first of all and an organizer secondly; she’s the one actually running the family’s factories. She supported my father in every decision that helped the workers and she had some ideas of her own, but she… she is very displeased with talks of a Republic at home.” 

“I can’t think of one reason why she should be,” commented Grantaire sarcastic. Enjolras gave him a side-eye. 

“I know she worries for me. My father worries too, he’s not completely sold on the necessity of an armed fight, he’s still a bourgeois after all and a rich one even.” 

“He must regret his decision to buy that Rousseau for you.” 

Enjolras shook his head.

“He’s not. He wants me to continue his legacy at the factories once he will no longer be with us. And I suspect both of them believe this to be a phase I’ll get over once I’ll finish my studies.” 

“Well, they’re in for a surprise then.” 

Enjolras turned to look at him, on his face both soft and surprised.

“You don’t agree with them?” 

“Of course not. It took me one second of hearing you talk to understand that you are willing to bring this nation into the light of a new republic or die trying which I don’t believe it’s worth it by the way…” Grantaire was ready to start a full-on speech about the evil of the human nature and the uselessness of striving for a better word, but he had to stop when he realized that Enjolras was no more at his side. 

The young men had stopped, a couple of steps behind him, and he was looking at him with that tenderness, shock, and melancholy that made Grantaire’s stomach drop.

“Is this what you meant when you said you believed in me?” he asked softly. 

“Mostly,” Grantaire answered unable to look him in the eyes. That didn’t even scratch the surface of what he had meant with those words, but he guessed it was a good summary. 

“R, there is something I’ve meant to tell you for some time now, but, you know, with everything that is going on I still didn’t find the right time.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to wait until we have arrived then. We’re almost there.” 

Enjolras seemed put off by those words, but he soon recovered his soft smile and nodded, walking again at Grantaire’s side. 

The studio was nothing more than a cabin in the woods. It had nothing of the luxury and exaggeration of the Manor, it was simply made with wood and rock with weeds growing all around it and maritime pines surrounding it. It was one of the few signs of the fact that their mother was, actually, a pretty good observer, not that Grantaire had hidden his distastes for the Manor’s architecture with particular care. 

It wasn’t the best position for a studio, really, the trees often blocked the light and night fell faster in the wood, but it was the best that Grantaire’s mother was able to do without letting father know and Grantaire had learned to deal with that. 

Enjolras didn’t comment on the little refuge and Grantaire started getting nervous that maybe he had changed his mind and he was starting to see what an idiot he had been to let Grantaire drag him all that way, just to find a simple and dull wooden cabin with nothing to offer to the eye but an obstacle to appreciating the lovely nature around them. Once inside, though, Enjolras got a glimpse of what was waiting for them inside and his face lightened with a delighted smile. 

“I’ll say in my defense that I haven’t had time to tidy up in some years,” Grantaire said while opening the curtains of the large windows and letting the warm light of the southern afternoon fall over the various and curious objects that cluttered every possible surface. 

“I can’t believe you were able to fit all of this inside this place.” Was the incredulous comment of Enjolras who was looking around with wonder in his eyes. 

“It took some time, a lot of sneaking around and all the help from Marie. I decided I wanted to focus on mythological paintings at the time, so this should explain almost everything you’ll find here.” 

“And Marie was your model? Like in the church’s painting?” 

Grantaire nodded. 

“She was quite happy in that role. I flatter myself thinking I was the one who helped her develop her love for acting.” 

“I’m sure she had a lot of fun,” Enjolras assured while picking a broken bow from a pile of dusty costumes. A ray of light was filtering throw the window hitting his golden curls and producing a halo around his marble face, like that, with his expression serious and pensive, Grantaire had no doubt that he had rightfully gained the nickname some of the other Republicans gave him back in Paris. 

“If you hate being called Apollo that much, you should stop trying to look like him,” Grantaire suggested with half a smirk while lounging casually against the wall. He was pretty sure that without that support he was going to swoon in front of the breath-taking view Enjolras was offering at that moment. 

Enjolras seemed confused for a second, but then his gaze fell on the bow still in his hands and he smiled in return. 

“I was wondering what did you use this for,” he said putting down the object with excessive care seeing that it was already decisively ruined. “Well, then. As who do you want me to pose?” 

“Just you.”

“Oh,” Enjolras breathed blushing slightly. “I thought you would have taken advantage of some of this stuff.” 

Grantaire waved a hand in the air dismissively. 

“It’s mostly trash, anyway, I’ll have to throw it away next time I come here.” 

“Are you thinking of coming back? I thought you vowed not to come back to your childhood house anymore. You said you broke that vow only for your mother request.” 

Grantaire shrugged. 

“I guess Lizi is right. I’ll have to make a family someday and this place is as good as any other, after all. Better than Paris, for sure. I doubt there is still one single woman in that damned city that would approve of marriage with me.” 

“No one has the duty to make a family,” Enjolras commented with a hard expression on his face. 

“Maybe I want to,” Grantaire noted lowering his gaze and started play with the hem of his shirt. Of course, Enjolras was going to disapprove of such a bourgeoise choice: wanting to build a family in a big Manor in the countryside. Was there something Enjolras would have loathed more for his own life? 

Not like he had ever had any chance to have something like that with Enjolras, a voice in the back of head reminded him, not even in the impossible case Enjolras would have accepted a future like that. 

“Do you want to or do you want to satisfy your sister?” His friend pressed hastily and Grantaire could feel the weight of his stare pinning him against the wall. 

“Why do you care? It’s my life, not yours,” he answered and raised his eyes to meet those of Enjolras, like moths to a flame, incapable to stop even knowing how dangerous it was. And what a flame those eyes held. Grantaire was never going to get tired of looking in them, even if it meant bearing the weight of the disapproval he could clearly read inside. 

Enjolras remained silent and, surprisingly, moved his stare so that he could avoid looking at him and fixed it in front of him instead with enough force that Grantaire was surprised the wall didn’t collapse. 

“I don’t want you to take a rushed decision you may regret in the future,” he admitted finally. It sounded like a confession. That whole situation seemed too serious and too full of truths for Grantaire and he decided to follow the instinct that dictated him to lighten the mood.

“Rushed decisions that I may regret later could be my epitaph,” Grantaire noted with a laugh eliciting a disapproving look from his friend. 

“Marriage is a serious business, Grantaire. A rushed one could cause a lot of pain,” he reminded him with a pointed look. It wasn’t difficult to know what he was referring to: after all, they were standing in the same place Grantaire’s mother had to build in secret to avoid his father’s anger and surely violent repercussions. Grantaire felt like someone had just punched his guts. Even Enjolras thought that he was going to become like his father: a shallow, selfish, greedy man, unable to love his own family and who married just to make his sister stop bugging him about it. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I know very well the consequence of such a decision, but I’m not my father,” he said between gritted teeth. 

“It was not my intention to insinuate that.” 

It sounded so much like the truth that Grantaire ached to be able to believe it actually was. 

“There was something else you were trying to insinuate?” 

“Of course not. I just… I want you to be happy, Grantaire. That’s all.” 

Grantaire scoffed. He had no doubt Enjolras’ desires would be so noble. 

“How very thoughtful of you.” 

“You don’t believe me?” Enjolras asked sounding almost offended. 

“Oh no, I do. You want everyone to be happy.”

“Is that such a bad wish?” 

“It’s a foolish one.” 

Instead of scowling at him, as always after a declaration like that, Enjolras shook his head and smiled amused. 

“I’m starting to doubt you actually mean half the thing you say.” 

“I don’t mean nothing of the things I say.” 

“Is that a double negative?” 

Grantaire shrugged. 

“You’ll have to find out. Was this the thing you wanted to talk to me about? Don’t get married if you’re not sure you’ll be able to care for your family?” 

Enjolras’ smile turned soft again.

“No, but, even if I don’t know a lot about art, I’m vaguely aware of the fact that you need the light to paint and if we keep talking like this, you’ll never be able to even start my portrait. We’ll have time to talk some more later, right?” 

“Of course, Enjolras, we’ll have all the time you need. All you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooooooo late and I'm soooooo sorry, but I struggled with a really bad case of writer block which it's still taking hostage my other wip so I'm soncidering myself lucky to being able to finish this chapter. Hope you liked it! If you did let me know with kudos and comments or come to say hi at [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments, nothing makes me happier than knowing there is someone interested in what I write.


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